Tears of an Orphan
Thank you for reading this post, don't forget to subscribe!Episode 24
© Mary Francis Solomon
Mrs. Olajide’s face turned pale as she glanced at her phone screen. The name staring back at her was the last person she wanted to hear from today.
Her heart skipped.
She quickly ended the call, but almost immediately, the phone rang again. And again.
Whoever it was kept calling relentlessly.
“Pick that call,” Mr. Olajide said quietly from the bed, his voice heavy with regret. “When you’re done, come and explain to me why you didn’t report Cynthia’s disappearance to the police.”
He sat there, lost in thought, weighed down by guilt over everything that had happened to Cynthia.
Mrs. Olajide quickly masked her fear. She forced a smile.
“Babe, you matter more to me than any call,” she said softly. “It’s just one of my workers and a client. I can call them later. I don’t like how angry you are with me. We’ve been apart for a week, and I was so anxious to see you. I wanted us to have a peaceful moment, but you’re upset because of an orphan who shouldn’t even be our problem.”
The room went silent.
“What did you just say?” he asked slowly.
Her heart dropped. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Ruth,” he said sharply, standing up, “so you’re telling me that Cynthia—my niece—doesn’t deserve my concern? Is that why you didn’t report her missing?”
He laughed bitterly.
“You’re heartless. I regret the day I married you. You brought shame into my life and forced me to do things I never wanted to do. Cynthia is an orphan, for Christ’s sake! Do you think her late father would forgive me for this? Yes, the police may not find her after one week, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try!” he said as he angerily left the room.
Mrs. Olajide stood frozen. She knew she had gone too far.
Inside the bedroom, fear wrapped around her. I’ve hurt him badly, she thought. I need to fix this—fast.
She couldn’t return the mysterious call while he was around, so she thought deeply. Then an idea came.
She rushed outside and found her husband at the backyard, leaning against the wall, staring into space. His pain was obvious.
She walked up to him and suddenly dropped to her knees.
“My crown… my joy… my love,” she cried. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean any of that. I was overwhelmed. You came all the way from Port Harcourt looking worried, and instead of comforting you, I added to your burden. I was tired and confused. Please forgive me.”
He turned, anger flashing in his eyes.
“Woman, if you don’t leave my presence now, I might do something we’ll both regret.”
She didn’t move.
Instead, she cried harder.
Mr. Olajide was a soft-hearted man. Seeing her tears weakened him. He sighed, stepped closer, and wiped her face.
“Alright, stop crying,” he said quietly. “This hasn’t reached that extent.”
She clung to him.
“It has reached that extent,” she sobbed. “You’re making me feel like a wicked woman—even before our children. I wanted to report the case, but something came up. Please believe me. I love you. I don’t like when you’re angry with me.”
He sighed deeply.
“I’m sorry too,” he said. “But you should have told me. I even have a friend in the police force. Cynthia is pregnant, Ruth. How do you expect her to survive out there alone?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered repeatedly.
“It’s okay,” he said, gently stroking her hair. “Let’s focus on what to do next.”
Relieved, Mrs. Olajide knew her fake tears had worked. Now she needed to completely clear her name.
“Babe,” she began carefully, “that day, I sent Cynthia to get some bathing soap and foodstuff from a nearby supermarket. I waited for two hours. She didn’t return. I went there myself—she wasn’t there. I asked people around; no one saw her. It was just 7 p.m., so I waited till the next day, thinking maybe she ran away.”
She paused.
“I informed the community vigilantes. We searched everywhere. That was my mistake—I didn’t go to the police station. I’m truly sorry.”
He nodded slowly.
“Since you didn’t go to the police, I already reported it today,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll follow me to the station and write a statement.”
Her heart skipped.
“Is it really necessary that I go?” she asked nervously. “I’ve told you everything already. You can write it.”
“No,” he said firmly. “You’ll come with me.”
She forced a smile.
“Alright.”
That night, while everyone slept, Mrs. Olajide quietly sneaked out of the house.
She needed to return that call.
To be continued…
Inspired by the Great Teacher.
Who do you think is the mysterious person calling Mrs. Olajide—and what role do they play in Cynthia’s disappearance?
Please like, comment, and share. Your support encourages me to write better and do more.
Written by Mary Francis Solomon.