My Husband's Wife Is His Mother (EPISODE 1) If someone had told me that I wouldn’t get to spend my wedding night alone with my husband, I would have laughed in disbelief. But that night—my wedding night—was the first time I realized something was very wrong. And it all started with the sound of her slippers. Flip. Flop. Flip. Flop. I was in the bathroom, changing into my silk nightgown. I had planned this night down to the details. Candles. Perfume. The perfect playlist. After all the stress of wedding planning, I just wanted to hold the man I loved and breathe in the beginning of forever. But the knock came. It was soft at first. Then firmer. Then the voice. “Oya open the door jare, make I lie down small. My waist is paining me.” My husband laughed. Laughed. “Shey I told you my mama doesn’t like hard beds,” he said, already heading for the door. I peeked out from behind the bathroom door, confused. “What do you mean lie down?” “She’ll just rest a bit. Don’t worry,” he said, brushing it off like it was normal. “She does this when she travels. The bed in the guest room is too small.” “But... this is our wedding night,” I whispered, heart sinking. He looked at me like I was being unreasonable. “Babe, it’s just for a bit. You know she’s old.” Old? His mother was barely 60. Active. Loud. Controlling. She ran a shop, led the women’s group in church, and made sure to remind everyone that she raised her son "without a single coin from any useless man." Still in disbelief, I watched as he opened the door and let her in. She entered like she owned the room. Like she built it with her hands. She didn’t even look at me. Just removed her wrapper, fluffed a pillow, and slid into the middle of our bed. My side. “Put off that candle abeg,” she said, fanning herself. “You want to burn this house?” I stood there frozen. My chest tightened. I looked at my husband, silently begging for support. He sat beside her and smiled. “She’s just tired. Tomorrow, everything will be normal.” But it wasn’t. I barely slept that night. The three of us lay in that bed like sardines in a can. Every time I shifted, her leg brushed mine. At one point, she even snored. Loudly. I turned to face the wall, hot tears forming in my eyes. This wasn’t what I signed up for. --- The next morning, she woke before us and clapped her hands loudly. “Wake up, wake up! This is not honeymoon o, this is my son’s house. I want to boil water.” I sat up, dazed. My husband stretched lazily and gave her the same smile he gave me during our vows. “Mama, you want me to carry the pot?” “Ehen, now you’re talking.” And just like that, they left me in the room. Alone. In my own marriage. --- Later that day, I tried to talk to him. “Why did she sleep in our room?” I asked gently, not wanting to seem disrespectful. He sighed. “Babe, you know how close I am to my mom. It’s just for a while. She said she wants to be around until you're strong enough to manage things.” “I’m not sick,” I replied, trying to control my voice. “And we just got married. Shouldn’t we be alone?” He shrugged. “Just give her time. She’s adjusting too.” Adjusting? She was adjusting? What about me? --- That evening, it happened again. She brought her wrapper, pillow, and blanket. No questions asked. She even had the audacity to say, “Ah, I like this mattress. Very firm. Good for my back.” I stood by the bed, still in my wrapper, and didn’t know what to do. “Mama,” I tried to speak, “maybe you can try the guest room again? We just—” She turned her head sharply. “You want to chase me away from my son’s room? Is it now a sin for a mother to sleep beside her child?” My husband kept quiet. Dead silence. I looked at him, pleading with my eyes. He avoided my gaze and said, “Let’s not make this a big issue tonight. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” But tomorrow never came. --- I started noticing little things. How she always sat between us when we watched TV. How she would call him to come lie down beside her during the day and rub her back. How she took over my kitchen and rearranged everything without asking. How she spoke to me like I was the house girl. I wanted to be respectful. I was raised to honor elders. But this? This was not honor. This was intrusion. This was something else entirely. A twisted triangle. A marriage with three corners. And somehow, I was the outsider. --- That night, I called my elder sister. “Sis, she sleeps between us. Every night. She won’t leave.” She paused. “What does your husband say?” “Nothing. He acts like it’s normal. Like I’m overreacting.” She hissed. “That’s witchcraft. Or madness. Or both.” I laughed bitterly. “It’s not funny.” “No, I know. But you need to take control before it gets worse.” “How?” I whispered. “How do I fight a mother-in-law on her son’s bed?” There was silence. And then her voice was firm. “You’re the wife. Start acting like it. Don’t let her settle.” But it was already too late. She had settled. She had brought her pillow. Her slippers. Her authority. And on the first night of my marriage, I learned that love is not always a fairytale. Sometimes, it’s a bed with three people—and one of them isn’t going anywhere. End of Episode 1 To Be Continue in Episode 2 ©️ Mummy Moreni

The Rat Who Wanted to Eat the Sky ⸻ In the lowlands of Uvoko, where millet grew tall and fruit trees leaned with sweetness, lived a rat named Diga. He was small, fast, and full of wild ideas. But of all his dreams, one was the strangest: He wanted to eat the sky. “I will nibble the clouds,” he said. “I will chew the stars like maize.” “I will swallow the moon and save the sun for dessert.” The other animals laughed. “The sky is not food,” said the tortoise. “You barely reach the mango branch!” cackled the parrot. “Dream smaller,” sighed his cousin. But Diga didn’t care. He believed hunger wasn’t just for the stomach—it was for wonder. So he built. He gathered bamboo and vines, old calabash shells and woven baskets. He stacked and tied, climbed and fell, mended and rose. Soon, a towering pillar spiraled into the clouds, shaking with every breeze. The animals watched from below, jaws open. “He’s going to do it,” they whispered. “He’s going to bite the sky.” Diga climbed for days. He passed birds. Surprised bats. Even caught a glimpse of the moon, who blinked nervously. At last, he reached the top—and opened his mouth. But as he bit into the sky, something strange happened. It didn’t taste like anything. It didn’t break. It didn’t fear him. Instead, the sky whispered, “You have come far, but not for food.” Diga blinked. “Then… why did I come?” “To remember that some hungers are not for filling—but for feeling,” the sky answered. And in that moment, Diga understood. He didn’t want to eat the sky. He wanted to touch it. To know it. To believe he could reach something no one thought he could. He smiled, turned around, and began his descent. When he reached the ground, the animals waited. “Did you eat it?” they asked. “No,” he said. “I tasted something better.” “Like what?” “Like belief.” From that day on, Diga didn’t climb the sky. He taught others to dream instead. And whenever a young animal doubted themselves, they were told the tale of the rat who almost swallowed the heavens—but chose wonder instead. ⸻ 3 Moral Lessons: 1. Not all dreams are meant to be achieved—some are meant to stretch you. Diga’s climb wasn’t about conquering, but growing. 2. It’s okay to dream big, even if others laugh. Diga’s boldness inspired a forest that once mocked him. 3. What you seek may not be the answer—but the journey to it is. Diga’s hunger led him not to food, but to faith. ⸻

Some people still believe my real name is Osuofia because of the movie Osuofia in London. I can’t talk about the good things that have happened in my life without mentioning that film. In 2003, the director Kingsley Ogoro called and offered me the role. I didn’t waste time — I quickly said yes because I was excited about the chance to travel to London. At that time, I had never been outside Nigeria before. We didn’t expect the movie to become such a big success. Back then, it was not common to shoot Nollywood movies abroad. But the film surprised everyone and became popular all over the world. After the movie came out, many people forgot my real name and started calling me Osuofia. I don’t mind at all because that name reminds me of the year my life changed. — Nkem Owoh

💔The Man Who Loved Deeply: Arjunbhai’s Story Arjunbhai Manubhai Patoliya was a devoted husband, a caring father, and a hardworking man originally from Vadiya, a village in Gujarat, India. In search of a better life, he moved to London, where he built a home with his beloved wife, Bharatiben, and their two young daughters. Life in London wasn’t always easy, but Arjunbhai was known among friends as someone who smiled through struggles. He worked hard, loved harder, and kept his roots close. But fate had other plans. --- In early June 2025, tragedy struck—Bharatiben passed away, leaving behind a grieving husband and two heartbroken daughters. Her dying wish was simple, yet sacred: she wanted her ashes immersed in her hometown river in Gujarat. Arjunbhai, despite his own grief, honored that wish. He traveled thousands of miles back to Vadiya with her ashes, leaving his daughters temporarily in the care of relatives in London. Back in his homeland, surrounded by mourning relatives, he carried out her besnu and other final rituals with a heavy heart. Every step was a tribute to the love they had shared. --- On 12 June 2025, having fulfilled his wife’s last wishes, Arjunbhai boarded Air India Flight AI171 in Ahmedabad, bound for London. He was eager to reunite with his daughters—to hold them, to grieve with them, to begin rebuilding their lives. But fate, once again, was cruel. Just 30 seconds after takeoff, the aircraft crashed into a building near B.J. Medical College in Ahmedabad. 241 people died that day. Only one person survived. Among the victims was Arjunbhai Patoliya. --- His two daughters in London—already mourning their mother—were now orphaned. Friends and family were shattered. One friend said, “He was a pillar of strength for his daughters. He lived for his family. What happened is beyond cruel.” His story spread across India and the UK, not just as a statistic, but as a reminder of the human cost of tragedy. --- Arjunbhai’s life was one of devotion, responsibility, and quiet strength. He didn’t just bury his wife—he buried a part of himself, only to unknowingly walk into the arms of fate. Now, his story is remembered as a heartbreaking symbol of love and loss—a man who honored every promise he made, until the very end.🕊️ #ArjunbhaiPatoliya #GoneTooSoon #InLovingMemory #RestInPeace #FamilyMan #DevotedHusband #LovingFather #ForeverInOurHearts #TrueLoveStory #TragicLoss #AirIndiaAI171 #FlightAI171 #AhmedabadCrash #PlaneCrashVictims #NeverForgotten #HumanCostOfTragedy #RealLifeHero #HonorHisLegacy #LoveBeyondLife #HeDidItForHisFamily #FathersLove #FamilyFirstAlways #WidowedFather #DaughtersOfStrength

BEAUTY FROM THE ASHES Episode 6 The women’s conference stretched across the week like a divine unfolding, each evening a sacred appointment that Amara hadn’t even known her soul had been craving. It wasn’t just a program; it was an invitation. An invitation to heal, to awaken and to breathe again. The first night had left her in tears. The speaker, a soft-spoken woman with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand stories, had shared her journey from despair to deliverance. Amara sat quietly in the third row, tears slipping down her cheeks as the words struck something deep, something raw within her. She wasn’t alone. Not in her pain. Not in her confusion. Not even in her silence. Every session after that peeled back another layer of pain, of pride, of fear. Like an onion shedding its skin, Amara found herself slowly unraveling. The masks she had worn for years...the brave wife, the silent sufferer, the spiritual martyr, began to fall. With every worship session, with every testimony, the walls she had so carefully constructed began to crack. Each night, she came home lighter. And each morning, she woke with a little more clarity. It was as if her heart was remembering how to feel again, how to hope. By Thursday, something inside her had shifted. That night’s message felt like it was delivered straight from the throne room of heaven to her wounded heart. The speaker, a fiery preacher with a voice that could calm storms or rouse an army, stood with authority and grace. She read from Isaiah 61:3: “…to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…” The words echoed through the hall, soaking into the atmosphere like rain on dry soil. Amara closed her eyes and let them wash over her. Beauty for ashes. Joy for mourning. Praise for heaviness. She didn’t know when the tears had started, but they came in quiet streams, not of sorrow, but of release. For the first time in a long time, Amara allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, her story wasn’t over. That perhaps God hadn’t abandoned her in the wreckage of her marriage, but had been waiting in the wings for her to find the strength to choose. Later that evening, Amara sat in Chinwe’s cozy living room, cradling a warm mug of ginger tea. The lights were dim, the air fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and honey. Chinwe sat across from her, legs tucked under her on the couch, listening intently. “I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for years,” Amara began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was so sure I was doing God’s will by marrying Eddy. Everyone said I was. And when things turned ugly, I thought... maybe this was my cross. Maybe I was supposed to endure it.” Chinwe reached out and gently took her hand. “Amara,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “God never asks us to stay in darkness and call it faith. He’s not glorified by your suffering. He’s glorified by your healing, your wholeness, your courage.” Amara looked down, tears pooling again. “But how do I just walk away? I made vows. I kept hoping he’d change. I didn’t want to give up.” “Walking away from abuse isn’t giving up,” Chinwe replied. “It’s waking up. It’s choosing life. God is not a taskmaster. He’s your Father. And He loves you far too much to watch you slowly die in a house where your soul can’t breathe.” A long silence passed between them. “So what do I do now?” Amara finally asked, her voice cracking. Chinwe squeezed her hand. “You choose,” she said softly. “You choose light. You choose life. You choose you.” That night, Amara didn’t sleep much. She lay in her room, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the moments she had silenced herself for the sake of peace, all the prayers she had whispered in the darkness, asking God to change Eddy, to save their home. But something had shifted. She realized she had been praying for resurrection in a grave she was never meant to lie in. The next morning, the storm arrived. Eddy came home with a man and started raining abuses on Amara; " See this idiot! You think you can come from African part of Nigeria to outsmart me that came from American part of Nigeria? It's either you hand over the school to me, channel all income to my account or I make sure the school is closed down completely." Her children, all came out to watch helplessly as usual. As Amara was trying to explain to the man he came home with, Eddy rushed Amara and started pounding her, targeting her face and bragging that he must make sure Amara becomes useless to any other man in this life; "By the time I'm done with you, people would spit on you at sight" Eddy continued hitting Amara until she collapsed on the floor. The poor man that came to ask for money to feed his family couldn't help the situation. When Amara regained consciousness, she saw only her children crying and waking her up. She sent for Chinwe. Chinwe immediately and secretly arranged for a drop that took them to Divine Mercy Hospital. The doctor was furious and demanded for his presence. When he arrived, he pleaded with the doctor that it's devil's handwork. As soon as he sighted Amara's brother, he begged Amara not to tell her brother but mocked her immediately her brother left. It's already few days Amara returned from hospital. Pastor Dickson visited their house. Bro Eddy pls kindly tell your wife what you shared with me. Eddy hesitated. "Sister Amara, your husband impregnated a lady called Jacinta and asked her to keep the baby. Although the lady insisted he must furnish a flat for her otherwise she will terminate the pregnancy. He was mad against you because he was having a showdown financially and couldn't meet the lady's demands and you refused to hand your income over to him." Pastor Dickson explained. Amara was lost in thought...so this man wanted me dead because of women. She remembered how he was bashed by one of his customers when she visited at the hospital. "Eddy, were you not the one that that told me this woman gave up her 12month salaries for you to have an English machine? Why are you treating this woman as if she worths nothing?" Mrs Aleme queried "How dare her say no to my order, a woman that bends to urinate? She must hand over the school to me. My account must be used for all income!" he thundered. But she has left the factory for you. The woman reminded And then? Eddy persisted. To Be Continued 🙏 What do you think that happened next? Find out in the next episode 🤔 Pls encourage me with like, follow, comment and share. God bless you 👏 ©️Grace Amarachi #teacherwritersingerlover #BeautyFromTheAshes #ChristianFiction #FaithAndResilience

"I lost my mom at 12. A year later, my dad got married. She came with 2 kids, aged 14 a boy & a 16 year-old daughter. We lived together in the house, with me being the youngest. I wasn't exactly maltreated, but I was being discriminated against by her children, who always got the best of everything. Growing up in that house was complicated. I did all the cooking & chores, which was a relief compared to what could have been worse - physical abuse. I ate daily meals, though not equally portioned like her kids - they got bigger pieces of meat and extra helpings. I convinced myself it was cuz I was the youngest. However, my stepmom's behavior changed slightly when I started excelling in school. She would: Compare my grades to her daughters', Limit my study time, saying "house chores won't do themselves" Make subtle comments like "You think you're smarter than my girls?" Despite this, I still respected her as my dad's wife and the mother of my household. Years passed, & my dad retired from his job. In a shocking move, he agreed with my stepmom to stop funding my education, citing "financial constraints. Despite that i was the most brilliant one in the house. I was 22 & had to drop out of college to support myself & also helping stepmom in her restaurant business. That's when I met my husband - a rich, kind man who asked for my hand in marriage. My stepmom initially rejected him, saying I was "too young" & offered her older daughter instead. But he insisted on marrying me. When he approached dad, he agreed to our union. The day of my wedding, Stepmom called me into a private room & tearfully apologized for how she had treated me. I forgave her, & we started Afresh. For over a year, we lived happily. She'd visit me often, helping with advice & support, especially when I became pregnant. Later on, after giving birth to my son, my stepmom visited, with the initial plan to stay with me for at least 6 months helping with nighttime feedings & caregiving tips. But 3 days ago something terrifying happened... While holding my 4-week-old b"by, my stepmom claimed she was "extremely sleepy" & accidentally dropped her. My son was rushed to the hospital, where doctors administered: Oxygen therapy, Phenobarbital to prevent any seizures. Thankfully, my baby is fine now... A week before this incident, I walked into the kitchen to find my stepmom preparing my baby's bath water - it was scalding hot!. But all she could say was she "forgot" to test the temperature with her hand before putting the b"by in. Luckily, & thank God I intervened just in time, & my baby was unharmed. So now I'm really confused & consumed by doubts: If my stepmom's actions are truly accidental, or actually intentional or could it be just an act of carelessness & if i should still allow her to stay & help for the remaining 5 months, or could my bæby's safety be at risk? Please, help! kindly guide me through this.

"I lost my mom at 12. A year later, my dad got married. She came with 2 kids, aged 14 a boy & a 16 year-old daughter. We lived together in the house, with me being the youngest. I wasn't exactly maltreated, but I was being discriminated against by her children, who always got the best of everything. Growing up in that house was complicated. I did all the cooking & chores, which was a relief compared to what could have been worse - physical abuse. I ate daily meals, though not equally portioned like her kids - they got bigger pieces of meat and extra helpings. I convinced myself it was cuz I was the youngest. However, my stepmom's behavior changed slightly when I started excelling in school. She would: Compare my grades to her daughters', Limit my study time, saying "house chores won't do themselves" Make subtle comments like "You think you're smarter than my girls?" Despite this, I still respected her as my dad's wife and the mother of my household. Years passed, & my dad retired from his job. In a shocking move, he agreed with my stepmom to stop funding my education, citing "financial constraints. Despite that i was the most brilliant one in the house. I was 22 & had to drop out of college to support myself & also helping stepmom in her restaurant business. That's when I met my husband - a rich, kind man who asked for my hand in marriage. My stepmom initially rejected him, saying I was "too young" & offered her older daughter instead. But he insisted on marrying me. When he approached dad, he agreed to our union. The day of my wedding, Stepmom called me into a private room & tearfully apologized for how she had treated me. I forgave her, & we started Afresh. For over a year, we lived happily. She'd visit me often, helping with advice & support, especially when I became pregnant. Later on, after giving birth to my son, my stepmom visited, with the initial plan to stay with me for at least 6 months helping with nighttime feedings & caregiving tips. But 3 days ago something terrifying happened... While holding my 4-week-old b"by, my stepmom claimed she was "extremely sleepy" & accidentally dropped her. My son was rushed to the hospital, where doctors administered: Oxygen therapy, Phenobarbital to prevent any seizures. Thankfully, my baby is fine now... A week before this incident, I walked into the kitchen to find my stepmom preparing my baby's bath water - it was scalding hot!. But all she could say was she "forgot" to test the temperature with her hand before putting the b"by in. Luckily, & thank God I intervened just in time, & my baby was unharmed. So now I'm really confused & consumed by doubts: If my stepmom's actions are truly accidental, or actually intentional or could it be just an act of carelessness & if i should still allow her to stay & help for the remaining 5 months, or could my bæby's safety be at risk? Please, help! kindly guide me through this. Photo by

"SHE GAVE YOU HER BODY, BUT TOOK YOUR DESTINY" – When sex is a transaction, the man always loses more. There are two types of men in this world: those who build their future and those who trade it away for temporary pleasure. Many men don’t even realize when they’ve been robbed, not of their money, but of their potential. She didn’t hold a gun to your head. She didn’t break into your house at night. But she walked away with your focus, your ambition, your discipline, and your financial future. And the worst part? You willingly handed it over. This is the silent robbery happening every day. Men think they are enjoying, but they are being emptied. BRUTAL THREAD: How Se-x Can Steal Your Future 1. THE COST OF FREE SE-X IS YOUR AMBITION You met a fine girl. She gave you her body for free. No stress, no commitment, just pure enjoyment. You thought you hit the jackpot? No, you entered the trap. Each time you’re with her, you’re spending hours, days, and nights chasing pleasure instead of chasing progress. You wake up late, you miss opportunities, your mind is distracted. You thought you were enjoying her body, but she was taking your focus, your time, and your hunger for success. 2. EVERY TIME YOU SLEEP WITH HER, YOU LOSE ENERGY—SHE GAINS IT There’s a reason great warriors, boxers, and kings of old practiced sexual discipline. They knew that their energy, clarity, and strength came from controlling their desires. When you release carelessly, you are losing more than just fluid. You are losing drive, willpower, and aggression—all the things you need to dominate in life. Now, check her: she is glowing, she is energized, she is more powerful. You are weaker. Why do you think they say "behind every successful man is a woman"? Because she collects his energy and multiplies it. But what happens when she takes your energy and leaves? She goes to multiply it elsewhere. 3. SHE TOOK YOUR MONEY, BUT YOU THOUGHT IT WAS LØVE At first, it was just small-small money—transport fare, lunch money, a little shopping. Then it became rent, hair, nails, and urgent 2K every week. You thought you were investing in her? No, you were funding your own downfall. She took your hard-earned money, but did she invest it back into you? No. She used it to look good for another man who had more focus than you. 4. SHE WASTED YOUR YEARS, NOW SHE'S GONE How many men have given their prime years to a woman who had no plans of staying? She took your time, your energy, your youth… then she moved on to the next best option. Now, you’re in your 30s or 40s, starting over while she has already secured her next destination. Reality check: A woman’s time is shorter, but a man’s wasted time is costlier. 5. YOU THOUGHT SHE WAS LOYAL, BUT YOU WERE JUST A PHASE Some women are seasonal lovers—they attach themselves to a man for a period, take what they need, then move on. You thought she was forever. She knew she was temporary. You were just a “right now” guy. And when she found a "forever" guy, she walked away without looking back. 6. YOUR FUTURE IS MORE VALUABLE THAN HER BODY Many men have traded their destiny for a few minutes of pleasure. Ask Samson. He had superhuman strength. Delilah used love and sex to take it away. Ask Solomon. The wisest king in history lost his throne because of vvomen. Even great men fall when they don’t control their desires. Now, look at yourself. What have you lost so far? 7. WAKE UP BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE If you keep trading your time, energy, money, and focus for sex, you will wake up one day and realize: The men you started life with are now ahead of you. Your bank account is empty. Your dreams never happened. And the women who wasted your years are now with better men. BOTTOM LINE: Sex is not free. It is always a transaction. Either you gain something from it, or you lose everything to it. Choose wisely. If this post hits you, you know what to do. #everyoneシ゚

The Day a Parent $lapp€d a Teacher — And the School Asked Him to Apologize” By Uche I will never forget that day. It happened in one of the schools I once worked. A male teacher — calm, humble, and highly disciplined — had a mild issue with a student. The boy had mi$behaved, and as expected, the teacher corrected him firmly. Later that evening, the boy went home and told his mother. The next morning, the gates of the school hadn’t even opened fully when the mother stormed in like a w0unded lion. She pushed the gate man aside, barged into the school compound, and went straight for the teacher. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t wait to hear his side. She raised her hand — and $lapped him. Not once. Twice. Two hot, di$respectful $lap$… delivered by a mother. To a man. To a teacher. In front of students. I was there. I saw it. I felt it. And till today, I don’t know how that teacher remained calm. Because if it were me, I don’t think I would have survived that moment with silence. I don’t think my body would have obeyed the command to stand still. But he stood still — not out of weakness, but out of something even deeper: dignity. You think that’s the worst part? No. When the case got to the school owner’s office, we expected justice. We expected the teacher to be defended. Instead, the owner begged the parent — and then turned to the teacher and said: “Just apologize… let’s end it here.” Apologize? Apologize… for being s$lapped? Apologize… for doing his job? Apologize… for being a teacher? That day, I felt something inside me break. I saw a man stripped of his dignity and asked to clap for it. I saw a teacher publicly humiliated — not just by a parent, but by the very system that should have protected him. We are teachers. And we deserve respect.

This generation will not believe that this happened in Nigeria! Nigeria we hail thee!!

A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL PART 3 Grace stood in the kitchen, her hands shaking as she stared at the text on her phone. It was from Michael—short, cold, like always. "Working late. Don’t wait up." She had spent all afternoon preparing his favorite meal—peppered snail soup with fresh bread. The table was set, candles lit, the house smelling of spices and warmth. She had wanted to talk, to finally tell him how lonely she felt. How much she missed him. But now, the food would go cold. Again. Her fingers hovered over her phone. She wanted to type, "Please come home. We need to talk." But she knew what his response would be—silence. Or worse, annoyance. She took a deep breath and called him instead. The phone rang three times before Michael answered. In the background, she could hear laughter, glasses clinking. A restaurant. "Grace, I said I’m working," he muttered, his voice tight with irritation. Her heart pounded. "You’re not at the office." A pause. Then a sigh. "I had a business dinner. I didn’t think I needed to explain every little thing to you." Little thing. Those words cut deep. To her, it wasn’t little. It was another night alone. Another night where she felt invisible in her own marriage. "Michael…" Her voice cracked. "I made dinner. I wanted us to talk. We—we can’t keep living like this." Another pause. Then, "Grace, not now. I’ll be home late." And just like that, he hung up. Grace stood there, the phone still pressed to her ear, the dial tone buzzing like a taunt. When Michael finally came home, hours later, Grace was waiting. The candles had burned out. The food was untouched. He walked in, loosening his tie, barely glancing at her as he headed for the stairs. "Michael," she said, her voice trembling. "We need to talk." He stopped, exhaling sharply. "Grace, it’s midnight. Can’t this wait?" No. It couldn’t. "Every time I try to talk to you, you push me away," she whispered, tears spilling over. "Do you even love me anymore?" Michael turned, his face unreadable. "This again? Grace, I’m tired. I work all day, and I don’t need this drama when I come home." Drama. That word shattered something inside her. "This isn’t drama!" she cried. "This is our marriage! You don’t talk to me, you don’t spend time with me—I feel like a ghost in my own house!" Michael’s jaw tightened. "What do you want from me, Grace? I provide for you. You have everything!" Everything except his love. Grace wiped her tears, her breath coming in shaky gasps. "I want my husband back." For a second, something flickered in Michael’s eyes—guilt? Regret? But then it was gone, replaced by cold indifference. "I don’t have time for this," he said, turning away. And just like that, he walked upstairs, leaving her standing there, broken. Grace didn’t sleep that night. By morning, her eyes were swollen, her heart raw. She needed someone to talk to. Someone who would listen. So she went back to the only person who seemed to care—Pastor Gideon. In his office, Grace cried as she told him what happened. Pastor Gideon listened, nodding sympathetically. Then he leaned forward, his voice grave. "Sister Grace… I fear for your life." Grace froze. "What?" He sighed, shaking his head. "A man who treats his wife this way… it’s not just neglect. It’s spiritual warfare. The devil is using him to destroy you." Grace’s hands trembled. "But—but what do I do?" Pastor Gideon placed a hand over hers. "God is telling me… if you stay, you will die in that house. Not just your heart—your life." Grace gasped, her blood running cold. "The Bible says, ‘Come out from among them and be separate.’ You must leave, Sister Grace. Before it’s too late." Her mind spun. Leave Michael? After eighteen years? But the pastor’s words sank deep, feeding her fears. You will die if you stay. That evening, Pastor Gideon "coincidentally" ran into Michael at a charity event. "Brother Michael!" he greeted warmly, clapping him on the back. "How are you, my friend?" Michael, unaware of the pastor’s conversations with Grace, smiled. "Doing well, Pastor. Keeping busy." The pastor sighed sympathetically. "I actually wanted to speak with you. Your wife came to me recently… she’s been struggling." Michael’s smile faded. "Grace?" Pastor Gideon nodded. "She’s… very emotional. I’ve been counseling her to find peace in God’s word. Marriage is sacred, after all." Michael relaxed, grateful. "I appreciate that, Pastor. She’s been… difficult lately." The pastor smiled, hiding his deceit behind holy concern. "We’ll keep praying for you both." Meanwhile, Grace sat at home, staring at her wedding ring, wondering if removing it would save her life—or destroy it. TO BE CONTINUED...

"You’re leaving this house. And I don’t want you to come back." That was all he heard. There was no argument. No shouting. Just a dry sentence… and a door closing. His grandmother. The same woman who had raised him since he was a child… was now throwing him out as if he were a stranger. His grandfather, witnessing the scene, was stunned. “What are you doing? Why are you throwing him out like that? He’s your grandson!” But she didn’t say another word. She just turned around and disappeared into the house. He didn’t understand. Neither did the neighbors. No one understood. The boy, aimless, started walking. He was wearing the same clothes he had on when he went to the store that afternoon. No money. No phone. No keys. First, he went to a friend. “Do you have a place to stay?” the friend asked. “No… they kicked me out.” “Damn… I’m sorry. But my parents don’t let anyone stay over. And honestly… I can’t do anything for you.” He kept walking. Another friend saw him coming. “Everything okay? Something happen?” “I have no place to go. Can I stay with you for a few days?” “And what are you going to do here? You don’t have money? You can’t pay for anything?” “No… nothing.” “Then I’m sorry. You can’t stay at my place.” The boy lowered his head. And left. He looked for his girlfriend. He hugged her and explained what had happened. She was worried, went to talk to her parents… and came back with a muted voice. “They say you can’t stay. And I… I can’t do anything either. I’m sorry, love… but this just isn’t going to work. Not like this.” And he was left alone. Completely alone. He sat on a sidewalk bench and looked at the sky. He had given everything for people who now gave him nothing. Hours passed. And when he thought no one was going to come looking for him… His grandfather appeared. “Let’s go home,” he said. He didn’t want to. “For what? So you can throw me out again?” “Please, trust me. Just come.” He got in the car. Total silence the whole way. When they arrived, his grandmother ran out to hug him. He stepped back. Then the grandfather sat him down and spoke calmly: “Your grandmother didn’t do it out of cruelty. She did it out of love. She wanted you to see with your own eyes… who stands by you only when you have something to offer. You thought you were surrounded by friends. You believed you had a solid relationship. But she saw things you didn’t want to see. People who used you, who took advantage of you… who were there only when you gave, but not when you needed.” “And she had to make you see the truth.” The boy began to cry. The grandmother came closer. “It broke my heart to do it… but I love you too much to let you keep believing a lie.” He hugged her. Tightly. Like he did when he was a child. And he understood something that can’t be taught with words. Moral: Sometimes, the person who loves you most is the one brave enough to shake you… to open your eyes. Because when you have something, everyone comes around. But when you have nothing, you discover who’s truly worth it. Who loves you… not for what you give, but for who you are. And that truth, even if it hurts, makes you stronger.