His Wife Wet the Bed on Their Wedding Night—And Then This Happened - Episode 4
His Mother Moved In—and Tried to Take Over the Marriage…
After weathering therapy, emotional breakdowns, and late-night phone drama, Obiora and Christy were finally in sync again.
The house was filled with peace. Laughter. Warmth. Even the neighbors had started calling them “that sweet couple.” But in Nigeria, peace is often short-lived when family gets involved.
It all started with a phone call.
“Mama’s not feeling too strong,” Obiora told Christy one evening. “Doctor says she should be around people. I think she should come stay with us for a few weeks.”
Christy smiled and nodded. “Of course. She’s welcome anytime.”
She meant it too. She loved Mama Ngozi—or at least, the version she knew from wedding ceremonies and video calls. What she didn’t realize was…
Mama Ngozi was a full-force hurricane in a gele.
The moment she entered the house, the atmosphere shifted.
“Ehn, so this is how you people live?” she said, scanning the living room like a general inspecting troops. “This chair is not facing the TV properly. And this flower? Haba. Artificial? In my son’s house?”
Christy laughed it off. She thought it was cute. For the first two days.
But then Mama started waking her up at 5 a.m. to pray.
Then came the cooking.
“You young girls don’t know how to cook soup again. Christy, give me that pot. You’re stirring it like you’re mixing paint.”
Christy bit her tongue. She tried. Really tried.
Until the ultimate line dropped during one Sunday lunch.
Mama Ngozi turned to Obiora and said in Igbo—loud enough for Christy to hear:
“If you had married that Ada girl from the village, you would be eating fresh pounded yam every day, not this microwave love.”
Christy’s fork paused mid-air. Her chest tightened.
Obiora caught the moment. He saw the pain in Christy’s eyes. And for the first time since Mama arrived, he spoke up.
“Mama, please. Respect my wife.”
The room fell silent.
“She may not pound yam or wake up before the cock crows, but this woman held me down when I was broken. You’re my mother, and I love you—but this is our home. Not your battleground.”
Mama gasped like she’d been shot. “So you’re choosing a woman over me, Obiora?”
“I’m choosing peace. I’m choosing my marriage.”
Mama stood. Packed her things. And went to stay with Obiora’s older sister “for just a few days.” She didn’t speak to him for a week.
Christy, shaken but grateful, turned to her husband that night.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Obiora pulled her close and smiled. “You don’t leave someone you pray for, remember?”
They laughed through tears.
When parents clash with your spouse—who do you stand with? Can there be balance without disrespect? Let’s talk in the comments.
Missed an Episode? Don't Worry!
Just follow, like and comment
His Mother Moved In—and Tried to Take Over the Marriage…
After weathering therapy, emotional breakdowns, and late-night phone drama, Obiora and Christy were finally in sync again.
The house was filled with peace. Laughter. Warmth. Even the neighbors had started calling them “that sweet couple.” But in Nigeria, peace is often short-lived when family gets involved.
It all started with a phone call.
“Mama’s not feeling too strong,” Obiora told Christy one evening. “Doctor says she should be around people. I think she should come stay with us for a few weeks.”
Christy smiled and nodded. “Of course. She’s welcome anytime.”
She meant it too. She loved Mama Ngozi—or at least, the version she knew from wedding ceremonies and video calls. What she didn’t realize was…
Mama Ngozi was a full-force hurricane in a gele.
The moment she entered the house, the atmosphere shifted.
“Ehn, so this is how you people live?” she said, scanning the living room like a general inspecting troops. “This chair is not facing the TV properly. And this flower? Haba. Artificial? In my son’s house?”
Christy laughed it off. She thought it was cute. For the first two days.
But then Mama started waking her up at 5 a.m. to pray.
Then came the cooking.
“You young girls don’t know how to cook soup again. Christy, give me that pot. You’re stirring it like you’re mixing paint.”
Christy bit her tongue. She tried. Really tried.
Until the ultimate line dropped during one Sunday lunch.
Mama Ngozi turned to Obiora and said in Igbo—loud enough for Christy to hear:
“If you had married that Ada girl from the village, you would be eating fresh pounded yam every day, not this microwave love.”
Christy’s fork paused mid-air. Her chest tightened.
Obiora caught the moment. He saw the pain in Christy’s eyes. And for the first time since Mama arrived, he spoke up.
“Mama, please. Respect my wife.”
The room fell silent.
“She may not pound yam or wake up before the cock crows, but this woman held me down when I was broken. You’re my mother, and I love you—but this is our home. Not your battleground.”
Mama gasped like she’d been shot. “So you’re choosing a woman over me, Obiora?”
“I’m choosing peace. I’m choosing my marriage.”
Mama stood. Packed her things. And went to stay with Obiora’s older sister “for just a few days.” She didn’t speak to him for a week.
Christy, shaken but grateful, turned to her husband that night.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Obiora pulled her close and smiled. “You don’t leave someone you pray for, remember?”
They laughed through tears.
When parents clash with your spouse—who do you stand with? Can there be balance without disrespect? Let’s talk in the comments.
Missed an Episode? Don't Worry!
Just follow, like and comment
💍 His Wife Wet the Bed on Their Wedding Night—And Then This Happened - Episode 4
👵 His Mother Moved In—and Tried to Take Over the Marriage…
After weathering therapy, emotional breakdowns, and late-night phone drama, Obiora and Christy were finally in sync again.
The house was filled with peace. Laughter. Warmth. Even the neighbors had started calling them “that sweet couple.” But in Nigeria, peace is often short-lived when family gets involved.
It all started with a phone call.
“Mama’s not feeling too strong,” Obiora told Christy one evening. “Doctor says she should be around people. I think she should come stay with us for a few weeks.”
Christy smiled and nodded. “Of course. She’s welcome anytime.”
She meant it too. She loved Mama Ngozi—or at least, the version she knew from wedding ceremonies and video calls. What she didn’t realize was…
Mama Ngozi was a full-force hurricane in a gele.
The moment she entered the house, the atmosphere shifted.
“Ehn, so this is how you people live?” she said, scanning the living room like a general inspecting troops. “This chair is not facing the TV properly. And this flower? Haba. Artificial? In my son’s house?”
Christy laughed it off. She thought it was cute. For the first two days.
But then Mama started waking her up at 5 a.m. to pray.
Then came the cooking.
“You young girls don’t know how to cook soup again. Christy, give me that pot. You’re stirring it like you’re mixing paint.”
Christy bit her tongue. She tried. Really tried.
Until the ultimate line dropped during one Sunday lunch.
Mama Ngozi turned to Obiora and said in Igbo—loud enough for Christy to hear:
“If you had married that Ada girl from the village, you would be eating fresh pounded yam every day, not this microwave love.”
Christy’s fork paused mid-air. Her chest tightened.
Obiora caught the moment. He saw the pain in Christy’s eyes. And for the first time since Mama arrived, he spoke up.
“Mama, please. Respect my wife.”
The room fell silent.
“She may not pound yam or wake up before the cock crows, but this woman held me down when I was broken. You’re my mother, and I love you—but this is our home. Not your battleground.”
Mama gasped like she’d been shot. “So you’re choosing a woman over me, Obiora?”
“I’m choosing peace. I’m choosing my marriage.”
Mama stood. Packed her things. And went to stay with Obiora’s older sister “for just a few days.” She didn’t speak to him for a week.
Christy, shaken but grateful, turned to her husband that night.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Obiora pulled her close and smiled. “You don’t leave someone you pray for, remember?”
They laughed through tears.
💬 When parents clash with your spouse—who do you stand with? Can there be balance without disrespect? Let’s talk in the comments.👇
🚨 Missed an Episode? Don't Worry! 🚨
📌 Just follow, like and comment
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