MY HUSBAND’S SECOND WIFE.
(That which you seek, you shall find in abundance)
NOTE: this is a fictional story, if you’re in an abusive relationship, abeg run oh.
“Doctor, how is my baby? Did she survive?” Winnie asked quietly. Her eyes lacked warmth, her face desolate. She already knew the painful truth, yet she still wanted to hear it from the doctor’s mouth.
The doctor sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the pale woman lying on the bed. Her face was ghostly white, her body weak, but something in her eyes unsettled him. They weren’t filled with sorrow—no tears, no trembling lips. Instead, they held a fierce, unyielding intensity.
He shifted his attention to her husband, who stood anxiously by the door, unable to step forward. It was clear he didn’t have the courage to hear the news himself.
“Doctor, you can tell me the truth. I can handle it. Did my baby survive?” Winnie asked again, her voice steady.
The doctor hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. “I’m sorry, madam. The baby didn’t make it.”
He braced himself for an outburst, for wailing or desperate sobs—how most mothers reacted to such devastating news. But Winnie simply lay there, silent, her expression unreadable.
Winnie’s expression remained unchanged, as if she had expected the answer. The only sound in the room was her husband’s loud, uncontrollable sobs.
She lay on the bed, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. Turning her head, she watched her husband cry like a baby—his body trembling, his face soaked with tears. And then, to everyone’s shock, she burst into hysterical laughter.
The doctor and nurses stood frozen, exchanging uneasy glances.
“Why is he crying now? What’s the use? Medicine after death,” she scoffed. He had beaten her so mercilessly that she lost the baby. This was the third time she had suffered a miscarriage because of his brutal abuse.
But it was all good.
“Madam, are you okay?” the doctor asked, his face filled with concern. Watching her laugh like that, he wondered if they should transfer her to the psychiatric ward.
Winnie suddenly stopped laughing and turned to him with a warm smile, stunning the nurses even further. How could a mother smile after losing her child?
Then, her next words left them even more bewildered.
“Babe, come over here,” she said softly, beckoning her husband closer.
Solomon immediately wiped his tears and stepped closer. True remorse filled his heart as he thought about the pain he had put his wife through. If only he could turn back time—he would have never raised his hands against her. But it was too late. Three babies lost in two years, all because of his brutal abuse.
“Nnem, I… I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me. I wasn’t in my right mind,” he pleaded desperately.
But Winnie simply waved him off.
She smiled and shrugged. “Babe, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s the first time anyway. But I’m hungry. Get me something to eat. Vegetable soup would be better—I’m starving.”
Solomon’s brows furrowed in confusion. Her request was… strange. He had expected tears, maybe even anger, but instead, she was calm—too calm. There was something eerie about her demeanor, something unsettling.
Still, he chose not to comment. After all, she had just lost their baby.
Instead, he turned to the doctor, silently asking if it was safe for her to eat such a meal. The doctor gave a small nod, signaling that it was fine.
“Alright, I’ll go get it for you,” Solomon said before leaving the hospital ward.
A nurse hesitated for a moment, then leaned toward the doctor, whispering, “Doctor, are you sure she hasn’t gone mad? Who asks for semo and vegetable soup after losing a baby?”
The doctor let out a deep sigh. He was just as confused. In all his years of treating patients, he had never encountered someone like Winnie.
“Nurse, I’m perfectly fine,” Winnie’s voice suddenly cut through the silence.
The little nurse flinched in fear. She had spoken in a hushed tone—how had Winnie heard her?
Winnie smiled, a strange calmness in her expression. “You know, Nurse,” she continued, “when you’ve spent years trying to have a child, only to lose three in two years, you get used to pain.”
She turned her gaze toward the window beside her bed. The afternoon light cast a faint glow on her face, but inside, she felt nothing—no grief, no sorrow.
She knew the truth. The woman she once was had died with her baby. What remained now was the darkness she had repressed for so long, the part of her that had been waiting to be set free. And now, it was time. Time for revenge.
People would tell her to leave. To walk away from this abusive marriage.
But that was the biggest joke of the century.
Leaving would be the easy way out.
But she had nothing left to lose now. Winnie swore that her husband—and his mother, who always defended her deadbeat son—would face her wrath.
A few seconds later, Solomon rushed back into the ward with the food. Without a word, Winnie took it from him and began eating slowly.
She wasn’t hungry, but she needed to eat. She had to fight, and she couldn’t do that on an empty stomach.
Just then, the ward door burst open.
“Where is that witch of a woman?!” a furious voice thundered.
Mama stormed into the room, her eyes blazing with rage. Winnie continued eating, unbothered, while Solomon stared at his mother in confusion.
“Mama, what are you doing here?” he asked.
She ignored him, her glare fixed on Winnie, who acted as if she hadn’t heard a thing.
“So, you have the audacity to eat after killing my grandchildren, okwaya?!” Mama sneered, letting out a bitter laugh. “Hehehe… your plans will not work! You will go back and tell your coven that you didn’t find my son, oh! How can a woman lose three pregnancies in two years? I will not condone this anymore!”
She ranted endlessly, her voice rising with each word.
But Winnie didn’t say a thing. She simply kept eating, as if Mama’s presence didn’t exist.
“Mama, please, this is a hospital. And my wife’s miscarriage is my fault… If I hadn’t raised my hands on her, she wouldn’t—”
“Shut up that stinking mouth of yours!” Mama snapped, cutting Solomon off rudely. **”You beat your wife, so what? During our time, our husbands beat us black and blue, yet we still went to the farm with our pregnancies—and we never lost a child! But her…” She jabbed a finger at Winnie, her eyes filled with contempt. “This woman is a witch! In their coven, they sacrifice children. That’s why she keeps killing my grandchildren! But I won’t let it happen again. That’s why I brought you a second wife.”
For the first time since Mama arrived, Winnie paused. She had been eating quietly, unbothered by the insults. But at the mention of a second wife, she finally raised her head.
Standing near the door was a young woman, no older than 20 or 22, staring at her with scornful eyes.
Winnie studied her for a moment, then calmly asked, “Who are you?”
The girl folded her arms and scoffed. “I’m Anita, the fruitful wife whose children will stay.”
“Did you hear that?!” Mama declared proudly. “She is my son’s new wife!”
She expected Winnie to react—to cry, to scream, to protest. But instead, Winnie remained calm.
She let out a soft chuckle, nodding as if amused. Then, her next words sent a chill through the room.
“Anita, right? How strong are you?”
To be continued.
#OpraDre MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND MY HUSBAND
