Within the depths of love’s embrace lies the power to conquer even the darkest of secrets.
…
Omolade
Today is my husband’s funeral, and I’m seated at the front pew in church, eyes wet and wiping down my tears every two seconds, a front I had to keep up with because nobody must know I killed my husband.
Reflecting on our journey, I remember meeting Yinka during my first year at university. His love swept me off my feet, and soon we were inseparable. Our love blossomed into marriage, and for years, we shared an unbreakable bond. In those early years of our marriage, Yinka was my rock. He stood by me through thick and thin, his unwavering love and support guiding me through the darkest moments of my life.
However, after two childless years, our once blissful marriage faced a strain. When the pain of infertility threatened to consume me, he was there, holding my hand and reassuring me that our love was enough. Despite societal pressure and his family’s insistence on taking another wife, he stood by me, offering reassurance and love.
“God gives children, Lade,” he would say, tears glistening in his eyes, “If He says He’s not giving us, then let’s accept it.”
About a month ago, I was at the office when, suddenly, I started feeling dizzy and weak. It was as if I couldn’t focus on anything and knew I needed to leave early. When I finally got home, I headed straight for the shower, hoping to wash away the strange feeling and sensation.
As I dried off, I rummaged through our closet, searching for something comfortable to wear. That was when I noticed something out of place — a piece of paper hidden under the flower vase on the vanity.
Intrigued, I walked over and picked it up. It was a business card for a place called ‘Angela’s Couture’.
Unable to resist my curiosity, I retrieved the business card and sat down at my computer. With a mixture of anxiety and determination, I typed the name ‘Angela’s Couture’ and hit enter. My heart skipped a beat as the search results confirmed what I feared. The store was located on the same street as my husband’s office. Feeling a knot form in my stomach, I couldn’t shake the need to verify it myself.
The next day, I mustered the courage to drive to the store. As I parked in front of the building, my hands trembled with nervousness. Stepping out of the car, I approached the storefront, my eyes scanning the sign above the door. There it was, Angela’s Couture, exactly where the internet had indicated.
Confusion and disbelief swirled in my mind as I stared at the storefront. Why would my husband have a business card from this place? The implications were too troubling to ignore, but I couldn’t bring myself to accept them. Despite the evidence pointing towards anger and betrayal, I clung to the hope that there was a rational explanation for it all.
As we sat down for dinner that evening, I couldn’t shake off the weight of what I had discovered earlier. Without accusing my husband directly, I tried to approach the situation as cautiously as I could.
“Baby, is there something you want to talk about?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
My husband seemed taken aback by the question, his expression shifting from confusion to concern.
“What’s wrong, honey? Why do you ask?” he replied, his tone gentle, yet guarded.
I took a deep breath before continuing. “I just have this feeling that there’s something you might want to share with me,” I said, hoping he would open up.
But, instead of confiding in me, he simply shook his head. “No, everything is fine,” he insisted, his voice firm.
Since then, my husband became restless. Despite his efforts to appear composed, I could sense his restlessness. His attempts to hide something from me were becoming more apparent with each passing day.
Finally, two weeks ago, I reached a breaking point. Unable to ignore my suspicions any longer, I decided to follow my husband after work one evening. As I trailed him to a nondescript house, my heart pounded with a mix of dread and anticipation.
What I found there left me speechless. Instead of catching my husband in the act of whatever deception I had imagined, I saw a child of about three or four years old run out, shouting, “Daddy.”
I sat in my car, dumbfounded. The resemblance between the child and my husband was undeniable, even a blind man could see it. Tears streamed down my face unnoticed until I tasted the salty liquid on my lips.
That night, lying beside my husband in bed, I mustered the courage to ask one last time, “Olayinka, is there anything you want to tell me?”
But, once again, he said, “No,” leaving me with a heavy heart and a sense of betrayal.
Three days before my husband’s death, I left him a text while he was at work, informing him that I would be visiting my elder sister’s place. I had prepared dinner for that evening before I left and assured him I would be back after a week.
So, I wasn’t shocked when I received a phone call that my husband had died of food poisoning, but that he had died two days after I left. What puzzled me was the timing. I had expected to receive that call the same night, but it came later than anticipated.
How? I wondered.
As I sat there, surrounded by mourners offering their condolences, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something else had occurred two days before my husband’s death. The pieces of the puzzle didn’t quite fit together, and my mind raced with unanswered questions.
As I glanced around the church, my eyes locked with Angela’s, and in that moment, everything became clear. The guilt etched in her eyes revealed the truth, the reason my husband had died two days later. Angela had also poisoned him.
I turned my attention back to the front of the church, a faint smile playing on my lips. I instinctively rubbed my tummy. I made a silent promise to protect the innocent life growing inside me.
My child would never know the truth about their father’s untimely demise. But, until then, I would continue to play the role of the grieving widow, keeping up the facade until my secret is revealed for all to see.
…
Angela
I wouldn’t tell you if I also poisoned Yinka or not, but you might figure it out by the end of my statement.
Nothing had been more annoying in this whole ordeal than Omolade pretending not to know me. As if the scar above my left eyebrow wasn’t caused by her when we were in SS2. As if we didn’t plan to attend the same university. As if I didn’t know about her weird allergy to onions. As if we weren’t almost suspended for mocking a teacher in junior school.
Omolade and I used to be that close. We were good friends. We were like twins, always getting into mischief together when we were younger.
Lade has a habit of always playing the victim, so her claim of searching for my store details online doesn’t surprise me. It’s almost laughable, considering she occasionally parks her car across from my store, lurking like a predator stalking its prey, except in this case, the prey is me. To anyone else, it might seem like she’s just visiting her husband at the other end of the street, but I know the real reason she comes around.
Yes, we were once friends, but those days are long gone. Whether she betrayed me or not, it no longer matters.
I met Yinka on the day of freshman orientation at the university, I would never forget that day because I thought I had found my soul mate. Omolade and I were supposed to attend the orientation together, but she had cramps and stayed back in the room.
I waltzed into the orientation room that morning, distraught and wishing I were anywhere but there. I already knew it was going to be a boring lecture, and I wasn’t even prepared for it. Moreover, Omolade wasn’t with me to chat and keep things interesting. For these reasons, I began to sulk, my face morphed into a frown.
But all my negative energy drained away the moment Yinka dropped into the seat beside me. God! He looked like the human version of paradise. He was so gorgeous and clean, with smooth caramel-toned skin that seemed to glow under the harsh fluorescent lights of the orientation hall.
I could perceive the faint but mesmerising smell of his cologne. He looked like a baby, so cute that I resisted the urge to pinch his cheek. But I did none of that. Instead, I turned my attention back to the student moderator, who was trying, and failing, to make everybody laugh with his dry jokes.
It was as if God knew what was going on in my mind because Yinka made the first move and spoke to me. But I wouldn’t bore you with the details of our conversation.
I never met Yinka again until after two weeks. I was in Lade’s room when someone knocked on the door. To my surprise, it was Yinka standing there, holding flowers, which — now I’m thinking about it — was quite ridiculous and overboard, considering we were just 100-level students.
I had no idea how and where Yinka and Lade might have met. All Lade said was that she had a date that evening with a random guy she had met. I was happy for her. According to her, she just wanted to test the waters, hence she wouldn’t be giving it much thought. But, that day, I found out Lade’s random guy was Yinka.
After the revelation, I didn’t know if I was still happy for her. Or was I angry at myself? Should I be mad at Yinka? No, I loved Yinka so much. But was I supposed to be mad at him? No, he didn’t know we were friends. So, I’m not mad at him.
That evening, Yinka messaged me. His words were a mixture of confusion, regret, and affection:
“I swear to God, Angela, I didn’t know you were friends with Lade. I am very sorry if I hurt you. I still love you so much, but Lade, God! Lade, I love her so intensely that I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m very sorry, Angela. Lade is just… you know… different, and I love you both in different ways. I love you still, Angela. And, I don’t want to lose you. I’ll still be here for you, anytime and any day. Love you. Olayinka.”
And that was how Yinka and I stayed in touch all these years. No, you wouldn’t blame me. I had liked him long before his relationship with Lade. I didn’t start liking him after I found out about them. Those were two entirely different things. Over the years, I’ve had a series of flings with different men, but I never got married.
No, it’s not because of Yinka. The world doesn’t revolve around him. Yes, I still love him, but that isn’t why I never got married.
The truth is, my life took its own complicated path. I focused on my career, climbed the corporate ladder, and travelled the world. I met many wonderful people and had countless adventures. Despite all this, no one ever quite measured up to the way Yinka made me feel. Even though Yinka and I never rekindled a romantic relationship, our bond remained strong.
So, no, you wouldn’t blame me for holding on to Yinka. Our connection is something rare and precious, something that has endured the test of time and circumstances
When Yinka said, “I’ll still be here for you, anytime and any day…” I thought I would be the one needing him. Maybe, one day, I would bang on his door, begging him to take me instead. But I was surprised that morning when it was Yinka who showed up at my doorstep instead, looking dishevelled and disorganised.
I had never seen him like that before, and, immediately, I started to panic. His usually neat appearance was gone, his hair was tousled, and his clothes were wrinkled and mismatched. As he stepped into my living room, he sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.
“What’s the problem, Yinka?” I asked, my voice coming out croaked like I was about to cry without even knowing why.
He kept pacing up and down, and I feared he would smash my Best Designer award out of annoyance. That’s one of my prized possessions, and I don’t even want to think about it in pieces.
“Can you please sit? You’re making me feel dizzy with your constant pacing,” I warned, slightly annoyed at the thought of my award being shattered.
“I don’t… know what I… have done, Ange…la.” He said, and tears rolled down his face.
I’ve never seen a grown man cry before. This was my first, and I was confused about how to behave, what to say or do. How do I console a grown man? He wiped his tears and started staring at the ceiling. Unsure of myself, I took a deep breath and reached out to him.
“Yinka, please sit down and tell me what happened,” I said gently, trying to steady my emotions.
He finally sank into the armchair, looking utterly defeated.
“Say something. What happened?” I urged.
As if that was the push he needed, he started.
“I got a lady pregnant,” he said, pausing to look at me, perhaps waiting to see my reaction.
But I gave none, knowing that whatever I showed would determine if he continued or not, and I needed him to spill. If I was shocked, my face gave nothing away, I kept staring at him, urging him telepathically to continue.
He picked up the hint and continued. “I swear, I’ll never do that to Lade. God knows I love her. It was a mis…take.”
He broke down again. I moved to his side and patted his back. He continued through tears.
“The girl looked like an adult. I thought she was around 25 or 26. I would…” he sniffed, “I wouldn’t have done it.”
“It’s okay, Yinka. There’ll always be a solution to every problem,” I assured him. Now wasn’t the time to chastise him for his infidelity and misconduct, I thought.
And that was how I took in Yinka’s illegitimate child.
The mother of the child agreed to it. According to her, she had just gained admission to the university and couldn’t cope with a child. She was excited when she heard there would be someone to take care of her child in her absence. To her, I was her saviour, who volunteered to be of help. But I didn’t do it for her. I did it for Yinka. It has been six months since I last heard from her, and I’m positive she has forgotten she has a child.
This is what Lade doesn’t know. She thinks Yinka cheated on her because she had conception issues. But no, Yinka accepted the reality. He was ready to forfeit having a child. He chose his love for Lade over fatherhood. He was willing to sacrifice being called ‘Daddy’ for her sake.
I know Lade is aware that Yinka and I have a relationship than what meets the eye, but she has never confronted me about it, and I’m keeping the same energy. Or kept.
The said man is dead now.
But I want to make it clear that I would never do anything to harm Yinka.
If you claim Lade had poisoned Yinka’s food that evening, and he died two days later, studies have shown that poison could take effect ranging from immediately to several weeks after ingestion. So, it’s possible for a person to die two days after the intake.
Lade says, “…but that he had died two days after I left. What puzzled me was the timing. I had expected to receive that call the same night…”
I’m no detective, but I think Lade knew exactly when the poison should have taken effect. So, if she says it should have happened that evening and it didn’t, then something was off.
So, I ask you, If Lade didn’t kill Yinka… who killed Yinka?
…
Epilogue
If only I were here to tell you my side of the story, maybe, then, you wouldn’t judge me. ♦
Yemisi V. Olaniyi, also known as Deolafresh, is a Nigerian writer and content creator with a deep love for storytelling. She’s currently pursuing a master’s degree at the University of Ibadan. Yemisi has a way of drawing readers into her world with stories that feel real and unforgettable. Her short story, Why I Killed My Husband, has sparked conversations for its gripping plot and relatable characters. When she’s not writing, she manages media pages for celebrities, helping them connect with their audience in a genuine way. Whether on paper or online, she tells stories that leave a lasting impression.
