She stepped out of the toilet, wrapped in a big white towel, her soft, smooth, glowing skin catching every eye.
Standing before the dressing mirror in her room, she pulled a chair and sat, gazing at her reflection. A heavy uneasiness filled her heart and body. His face kept flashing in her mind, and nothing about her body pleased her. She felt unsettled, unable to convince herself about this sudden trip he had orchestrated.
His expression, his manner, even the way he drove all the way from Bauchi to Katsina—everything about him seemed strange, as though he was not her Abbas. Something was happening, something important. She searched for the reason, tracing back to the very moment he left the house until they reached Katsina. She thought and thought, but she could not pinpoint a single thing.
As far as she knew, they had parted as lovers always do—full of longing for one another. Even that very morning, they had spent long hours on the phone. He had complained of discomfort where he was, and she had teased him, consoled him, and made him laugh. They had ended their call with beautiful words from the depth of their hearts. So why the sudden change?
“There’s something going on,” she whispered under her breath, her soft lips moving slowly as she pulled her eyes away from the mirror. She picked up her fragrant lotion and lazily rubbed it onto her skin, lost in worry.
Every few minutes she glanced at her phone, expecting his call. That had always been their habit: wherever he went in Nigeria, if he was traveling by car, she was his companion on the phone until he arrived. And if not, he would keep calling her throughout the journey. But this time—not even a missed call. By her own calculation, he should almost be home by now.
“What exactly is happening?” she muttered again, anxiety gnawing deep within her heart.
The Call that Shattered Her
She dressed herself in a long atamfa gown, showing her beauty and elegance despite her troubled state. She slipped on soft slippers and walked down the corridor toward the sitting room.
Before she reached, she saw her—a figure of utmost importance in her life, someone she deeply cherished. Whenever she traveled, being with her filled her world with joy. The woman looked away from the TV and smiled warmly. They exchanged smiles, and she spoke first:
“That bath of yours took forever. Affan cried until they had to take him out.”
She sat beside her tenderly, about to respond when her phone rang. Her heart leapt with hope. She answered quickly, excusing herself:
“I’ll be right back, Mommie.”
She couldn’t dare take that call in front of her—only she knew the intimate words they shared. She returned to her room, sat before the mirror again, and answered:
“Assalamualaikum,” she cooed sweetly, tilting her head the way she knew he loved.
But the reply froze her. The softness of his usual voice was gone. Instead, it was the harsh, commanding voice he used on criminals during work, or subordinates at the office, or whenever anger consumed him.
“Why would you do this to me?” His voice thundered.
Her heart sank, panic rising. “Did you arrive safely? How was home?” she tried to steady herself.
“I know everything! I trusted you with my life, yet you betrayed me! Widad—you’re nothing but a liar, a deceiver, a traitor! I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?”
Her whole body trembled. “What have I done, Abbas? What happened? Do you even know what you’re saying?”
He cut her off sharply: “Don’t pretend! How long have you been cheating on me? A hotel? Then you brought a man into my house? Into my very bed, Widad? What crime have I committed to deserve this punishment?”
Her knees buckled. “Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un,” she whispered, shivering. “Hotel? What are you talking about? Yes, I went, but—”
“Enough!” he roared. “That’s all I needed to hear. May God judge between us. I will never forgive you. Never!”
The line went dead.
“Abban Affan! Daddy!” she cried desperately, but his phone was already switched off. The phone slipped from her hand as she collapsed, sobbing bitterly, her chest tightening with pain.
“Who saw me? Who told him? Who?”
“Hafsah,” a whisper rose from the depths of her heart. Her tears stopped for a moment, only to pour again, harder. She tried to stand, but dizziness pulled her back down.
Collapse into Darkness
Still crying, she heard the door creak open. Weakly, she lifted her head, her blurred eyes straining to see who had entered. Her body shook, her mind racing between disbelief, fear, and unbearable sorrow, as the weight of betrayal—or perhaps a terrible lie—crashed down upon her.
Description
Restlessness and Doubts
She stepped out of the toilet, wrapped in a big white towel, her soft, smooth, glowing skin catching every eye.
Standing before the dressing mirror in her room, she pulled a chair and sat, gazing at her reflection. A heavy uneasiness filled her heart and body. His face kept flashing in her mind, and nothing about her body pleased her. She felt unsettled, unable to convince herself about this sudden trip he had orchestrated.
His expression, his manner, even the way he drove all the way from Bauchi to Katsina—everything about him seemed strange, as though he was not her Abbas. Something was happening, something important. She searched for the reason, tracing back to the very moment he left the house until they reached Katsina. She thought and thought, but she could not pinpoint a single thing.
As far as she knew, they had parted as lovers always do—full of longing for one another. Even that very morning, they had spent long hours on the phone. He had complained of discomfort where he was, and she had teased him, consoled him, and made him laugh. They had ended their call with beautiful words from the depth of their hearts. So why the sudden change?
“There’s something going on,” she whispered under her breath, her soft lips moving slowly as she pulled her eyes away from the mirror. She picked up her fragrant lotion and lazily rubbed it onto her skin, lost in worry.
Every few minutes she glanced at her phone, expecting his call. That had always been their habit: wherever he went in Nigeria, if he was traveling by car, she was his companion on the phone until he arrived. And if not, he would keep calling her throughout the journey. But this time—not even a missed call. By her own calculation, he should almost be home by now.
“What exactly is happening?” she muttered again, anxiety gnawing deep within her heart.
The Call that Shattered Her
She dressed herself in a long atamfa gown, showing her beauty and elegance despite her troubled state. She slipped on soft slippers and walked down the corridor toward the sitting room.
Before she reached, she saw her—a figure of utmost importance in her life, someone she deeply cherished. Whenever she traveled, being with her filled her world with joy. The woman looked away from the TV and smiled warmly. They exchanged smiles, and she spoke first:
“That bath of yours took forever. Affan cried until they had to take him out.”
She sat beside her tenderly, about to respond when her phone rang. Her heart leapt with hope. She answered quickly, excusing herself:
“I’ll be right back, Mommie.”
She couldn’t dare take that call in front of her—only she knew the intimate words they shared. She returned to her room, sat before the mirror again, and answered:
“Assalamualaikum,” she cooed sweetly, tilting her head the way she knew he loved.
But the reply froze her. The softness of his usual voice was gone. Instead, it was the harsh, commanding voice he used on criminals during work, or subordinates at the office, or whenever anger consumed him.
“Why would you do this to me?” His voice thundered.
Her heart sank, panic rising. “Did you arrive safely? How was home?” she tried to steady herself.
“I know everything! I trusted you with my life, yet you betrayed me! Widad—you’re nothing but a liar, a deceiver, a traitor! I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?”
Her whole body trembled. “What have I done, Abbas? What happened? Do you even know what you’re saying?”
He cut her off sharply: “Don’t pretend! How long have you been cheating on me? A hotel? Then you brought a man into my house? Into my very bed, Widad? What crime have I committed to deserve this punishment?”
Her knees buckled. “Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un,” she whispered, shivering. “Hotel? What are you talking about? Yes, I went, but—”
“Enough!” he roared. “That’s all I needed to hear. May God judge between us. I will never forgive you. Never!”
The line went dead.
“Abban Affan! Daddy!” she cried desperately, but his phone was already switched off. The phone slipped from her hand as she collapsed, sobbing bitterly, her chest tightening with pain.
“Who saw me? Who told him? Who?”
“Hafsah,” a whisper rose from the depths of her heart. Her tears stopped for a moment, only to pour again, harder. She tried to stand, but dizziness pulled her back down.
Collapse into Darkness
Still crying, she heard the door creak open. Weakly, she lifted her head, her blurred eyes straining to see who had entered. Her body shook, her mind racing between disbelief, fear, and unbearable sorrow, as the weight of betrayal—or perhaps a terrible lie—crashed down upon her.