Amaka hissed and sat beside her. That man has no fear of God. After all these years? He didn’t even check himself? Ngozi, you have suffered.
Ngozi rested her head on Amaka’s shoulder. I don’t even know where to start. I left with just this bag.
All my things are still in that house. Amaka touched her arm gently. Don’t worry.
You will sleep here tonight. You can stay as long as you need. I don’t have much, but this house is your house now.
Ngozi closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Thank you, Amaka. The room was silent for a few seconds.
Then Amaka stood up. Come, let me boil water. You’ll take a hot bath and eat something.
Tomorrow, we’ll talk about what next. Ngozi sat there as Amaka walked away, her eyes staring at the floor. Her heart felt like it had cracked into many pieces.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. Even though the bed was soft and the room was quiet, her mind kept going back to the moment Chaik told her to leave. She remembered how he turned his face away, how he looked at her like a stranger.
By morning, her pillow was soaked with tears. Days passed. Ngozi stayed in Amaka’s house, trying to hide her sadness.
But she couldn’t eat much. She barely spoke. She would sit near the window, staring outside as if waiting for something to change.
Amaka tried everything to cheer her up. One morning, she said, Ngozi, come with me to the market. Let’s walk around, breathe some fresh air.
But Ngozi shook her head. I don’t want people to see me. What if someone asks about Chaik? What will I say? You’ll say the truth, Amaka replied.
That is a fool who threw away a diamond because he wanted a stone. Ngozi gave a small smile, but it didn’t last. Later that week, Amaka brought up something important.
Ngozi, have you ever gone for a proper medical checkup? Ngozi looked at her, confused. What kind of checkup? A fertility test. Have you ever tested yourself to be sure the problem wasn’t from you? Ngozi shook her head slowly.
Chaik said it was me. He never agreed to go for tests himself. He said he was fine.
Amaka frowned. So you just believed him? I didn’t have a choice, Ngozi said, her voice weak. He wouldn’t listen.
And his mother, his mother called me names. They all blamed me. Amaka stood up.
No, this has to stop. We’re going to the hospital tomorrow. Let them run all the tests.
I need you to hear the truth from a doctor, not from that proud husband of yours. Ngozi didn’t argue. She was tired of guessing.
Maybe, just maybe, she needed answers. The next day, they went to Life Hope Medical Center, a quiet private hospital where Amaka knew one of the doctors. Dr. Uche, a soft-spoken man in his 40s, welcomed them into his office.
How can I help you, Madam Ngozi? He asked gently. Ngozi looked down. Amaka answered for her.
She was married for seven years. No child. Her husband divorced her because he said she was barren.
But she has never done any test. We want a full checkup. Dr. Uche nodded slowly.
You did the right thing by coming here. We’ll run some tests. Then we’ll talk.
They spent the next few hours doing blood work, scans, hormone tests. Ngozi felt nervous the whole time. What if Chaik had been right? What if she really was the problem? Two days later, the results were ready.
Ngozi sat in front of the doctor, her hands sweating. Dr. Uche adjusted his glasses and smiled. Madam Ngozi, everything looks good.
Your reproductive system is healthy. You’re ovulating well. Your hormone levels are normal.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Ngozi blinked. Nothing.
Nothing, the doctor repeated. If there was no pregnancy for seven years, I advise you ask your ex-husband to check himself. From what I see, you are completely fine.
Ngozi covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes. I, I don’t know what to say. A marker jumped from her seat.
I knew it. I knew it. That man lied to you.
Ngozi, he blamed you just to cover his own shame. Ngozi felt her whole world spin. So all this time, I wasn’t the problem.
Dr. Uche smiled kindly. You were never the problem. And when you do find the right man, I believe you’ll have your own children.
