" I don't understand why you are begging me, you told me a few weeks ago you were happy to finally be a father from a woman that isn't diseased."  I looked right into Jinke's eyes as I made this accusation.

He rubs his hands together in a quick pleading motion. Making me look at him in suprise and amazement. "Àjíkè mí don't let us do this here, we can trash out my infidelity like adults when we are at home, not in front of our parents. " He scowls lightly and I smile indulgently, I smile for the delay in getting my decision out there..

"Jinke when was the last time you called me your own, when was the last time you called me Àjíkè mí? Probably in the first few months of our marriage." I had gotten used to being verbally abused by Jinke about our childlessness, I stopped telling my mother when he called me a Mamma's baby.

" Àjíkè, I took you as my daughter, I've been with you all there while, I've never forgotten, it's just I was worried Jinke wouldn't have children on time, that's why I quickly took action."

I frowned in her direction, "Mama, did you or did you not encourage your son's infidelity ?".My mother ever the hot tempered woman asks Jinke's mother angrily, I look down to see my quiet father place his left hand on my mother's right one. She pulls at her hijab angrily, she's hot already due to her anger.

I smile, this time much more genuinely. My mother is just like Nusaiba, they both have this calm before the storm sort of temper. My parents marriage has lasted for like forever and as an only child, I've enjoyed and cringed at their loving moments, moments like this when Dadda stops my momma from blowing her fuse.

"I had two miscarriages, two miscarriages Iya Jinke, OluwaJinkeefunmi lied to you, he infected me with gonorrhea and now he's here begging me not to tell you. Did he not tell you that a few months after our marriage he got infected with gonorrhea". She gaps at me in astonishment, I laugh lightly ignoring the tears that ran down my cheeks.

" Ijo imi Jinke oni wàlè ójó meta (Sometimes, for at least three to four days, Jinke won't come home), he won't call, I'll just keep seeing photos of my husband on social media with questionable women, I kept praying for him like people said I should".

I kept enduring, my mother is one fiery woman who won't take nonsense from anyone so I didn't tell her anything, I kept enduring all the issues that arose in my home. From days when Jinke would eat my food and spit it out spitefully saying I 'lacked home training' I dwelled in it all. All in all, it was a toxic relationship.

I looked at Jinke sobbing like an unattended baby, and unlike last time when my heart fluttered and I tried to forget his bad deeds, this time around I laugh out loud in the severity of my heart's hardness.

Oh Allah, How I loved this man, I've loved him all my life.

I wonder how exactly I got to this point and where exactly I got it wrong. I prayed Istikarah, I might have neglected to wait for the signs but I prayed. I prayed hard.

At Jinke's wedding, pandemonium broke out when the real father of Kareem's child came forward. He came forward just after the bride danced in, Nusaiba terms it 'most embarrassing event of the year'. Jinke had begged for his 'wife' with his chest touching the ground three times. He had prostrated to his in-laws seven times all smiles and the real father of the baby had watched, he had even bought the aso-ebi.

Apparently Kareema's mother had hatched the plot to make her daughter Jinke's wife after hearing of their affair, she had no idea what her daughter had done.

The poor man's baby had been passed on as Jinke's and pandemonium broke out when she had danced in with her friends, she was sitting in between Jinke's uncle and his mother when the real father of the baby went to the stage, grabbed the microphone and begged the entire crowd.

"Salam Alaikum." We had all responded, Kareema's face had turned pale and at that point I had wondered why she was so pale.

"Èjó, è bamí bè Kareema ko bamí gbè Omo mí. (Everyone, please help me beg Kareema to give me my child )". He prostrated in front of the entire crowd, people began to murmur, Someone tapped Jinke's mother and asked. "Isn't your son the father of the baby?" Jinke's mother had hung her head in embarrassment.

Nusaiba who sat beside me had laughed long and hard, she brought out her phone and began recording their shame.

Kareema began to sob profusely and they whisked all of us away from the crowd into a side hall at the back.

"Kareema, please tell me I'm the father of my baby." She cried harder and shook with sobs. I looked at Nusaiba with a small smile as Jinke held his head in anguish.

"It's for my boyfriend, but when I told my mama, she said I should tell you that you'll take good care of me."

"You know now, that you are no longer going to be a father, you are here begging for forgiveness, I forgive you for the sake of Allah."

I am waiting on one last guest and we can move on from here, I'm absolutely tired of  seeing Jinke's face.

The doorbell rang downstairs and my heart lurched, my last guest is here. Finally I'll be free.

Dear All,
Eid Mubarak to all my Muslim friends, May God forgive all our shortcomings. Sallah gifts should begin to roll in abeg. I love gifts.

Who is the last guest? Predict very correctly what you think and you get blown kizzez from me to you. Happy predicting though. 😁😂😂😂

Now, last week I left hints of what was going to happen this week and nobody saw it. Some people even commented next to the hints. 😦😭😭😭😥😥

This chapter is dedicated to all my readers, thank you all for the 850 reads. I wake up many mornings to notifications of how much you all love Àjíkè, I love you all.

See you all next Friday by God's grace. May God keep us beyond then.