Returned Wife, Stolen Children / Chapter 7: Breaking Free
Returned Wife, Stolen Children

Returned Wife, Stolen Children

Author: Brian Cook

Chapter 7: Breaking Free

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"Makurdi?"

Tunde’s voice suddenly rose.

He stared at me for a long time, as if something clicked, the corners of his mouth lifting in mockery.

"You want to use this to threaten me? To pretend you’re leaving so you can get what you want?"

"Morayo also married me properly; there’s no reason to give your place back to you."

He was so sure I couldn’t leave him.

I almost laughed out loud.

Laughing at Tunde, and at myself.

After five years of marriage, I never knew he was this kind of man.

I replied calmly, "My husband is in Makurdi."

Tunde’s face changed.

His face turned pale, lips parted, and after a while he spoke.

"You got married in Makurdi?"

I nodded, taking Bola’s hand and walking past him.

"Now that you and I are both remarried, there’s nothing left between us."

Suddenly, the corner of my wrapper was grabbed.

Tunde’s hand pulled hard, almost tearing the fabric.

He was no longer calm, almost gritting his teeth. "I don’t believe it."

"I’m now a trusted adviser to the governor, Deputy Director of Personnel. Can you really give up such wealth and status?"

"In Makurdi, officials of your husband’s age are all below the top ten. Are you really willing to suffer with him?"

At last, his voice faltered, almost choking up.

I turned away, refusing to look at him again.

"Tunde, you and I are not the same."

"I don’t care about those things; I only care about him."

Tunde refused to let go.

His eyes were red, but his face grew even darker.

"What about Bola and Dayo? Don’t you care about them?"

Bola clung tightly to my fingers, her body trembling slightly.

"Bola will go with me. As for Dayo—"

My eyes dimmed.

"He doesn’t want to recognize me, so let him be."

I left him a way out.

That was the most kindness I could give.

Tunde still tried to stop me.

I freed Bola’s hand, pulled out my penknife, and sliced my Ankara wrapper—leaving the piece at Tunde’s feet.

The security men dropped down from above, holding batons, blocking his way.

He was forced to stop, still unwilling.

"Bola’s surname will remain Tunde."

I took Bola’s hand and left without looking back.

"From today on, she won’t carry the Tunde surname."

As I left, the compound dogs howled—a warning, or maybe a blessing.

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