Chapter 5: No Rest for the Righteous

4

Ifeoma’s death was truly a heavy blow to Musa Danjuma. He is suffering now, but soon, he will forget his guilt and continue his successful life.

He walks like a man haunted, but time will heal him. Soon, the world will call him back, and his laughter will return. That is the way of men.

But my Ifeoma will be buried underground, lonely and forgotten.

She will lie in cold earth, her name spoken less and less, her laughter fading from memory. I cannot accept it.

I will not allow it.

I swore an oath, in my heart, that Ifeoma’s memory would burn brighter in death than it ever did in life. No one would erase her.

Musa Danjuma was pinned down in the courtyard. My people found their old wedding clothes in the Musa house.

He was held fast, powerless. My attendants moved through the house, searching every corner, dragging out boxes, clothes, old pictures.

"These are Miss Ifeoma’s wedding clothes."

They held them up for me to see—white lace, faded but still elegant. My eyes burned with unshed tears.

I carelessly stroked the fabric.

The cloth felt rough beneath my fingers. Once, it had been soft and new, filled with promise. Now, it was just a relic of pain. The taste of bitter leaf lingered in my mouth as I issued my next command.

"Burn them."

My order rang out. Fire cleanses. Let the past be ash.

"These are the furnishings Miss Ifeoma bought."

They carried in wooden stools, curtains, pots, and pans. Every piece was a memory, a fingerprint of her life.

"Break them."

Let nothing remain. Ifeoma’s memory would not be cheapened by these things.

"This is..."

The attendant hesitated, holding a small framed picture—Ify and Musa, arms around each other, smiling as if the world belonged to them. I did not let her finish.

I wanted the Musa family to watch as I erased every trace of Ifeoma’s existence, one by one.

They would learn what it means to take and not give, to forget and be forgotten. Every loss was a lesson.

Musa Yinuo still did not understand what I was doing. Only Musa Danjuma’s eyes were bloodshot, and he kept growling,

His voice broke, pleading and wild. Musa Yinuo watched, confused and frightened. Childhood has no language for this kind of pain.

"Stop it! Stop it! Ify will come back, she will come back. She’s just angry with me, like always..."

He clung to hope like a drowning man. But I knew the truth—there is no coming back from some journeys.

I clicked my tongue.

Let him fool himself. Self-delusion is its own punishment.

Who was he deceiving?

Not me. Not Ifeoma. Not even himself.

My people worked quickly, and soon the Musa residence was empty. Other than the house itself, nothing remained.

The house echoed with emptiness, as if a whirlwind had passed through. Every scrap of Ifeoma was gone.

This family drank Ifeoma’s sweat, yet forced her to a dead end.

They took her love, her labour, her laughter, and gave her sorrow in return. Now, they would taste the bitterness they had brewed.

I closed my eyes, but the corners of my mouth curled into a smile.

Sometimes, revenge is the only medicine. My heart felt lighter, just a little.

"Since you all love each other so much, I will give Sade to you as your wife. From now on, Musa Yinuo will be her child."

Let them play their game, let them choke on their happiness. It was a fitting punishment.

When she heard this, Sade was so happy.

She clapped her hands, eyes shining, barely able to hide her triumph. The women in the crowd whispered, some with envy, others with scorn.

She was about to kneel to thank me, but Musa Danjuma refused.

He jerked away, his pride wounded. Even now, he clung to the last shreds of loyalty.

"In this life, I will have only Ifeoma as my wife."

His voice was low but clear. It was the first time he had shown any backbone in weeks.

Musa Yinuo, however, happily knelt beside Sade, quickly calling her mother.

He smiled, eager, as if trying to erase the past. The innocence of children is a double-edged sword.

"Mummy, I finally waited for you to be my mother. I don’t like that lioness."

The words twisted in my chest. Lioness. They had always called Ifeoma fierce, but it was love that made her roar.

Then he turned to Musa Danjuma,

"Daddy, didn’t you say Aunty Sade is the best woman in the world?"

He looked up, eyes wide. Musa Danjuma’s face crumbled. Even children know how to wound.

Musa Danjuma’s face was grey, refusing to answer.

He looked away, ashamed. He had lost everything.

I laughed quietly and left the marriage decree.

The paper was heavy in my hand, a final gift to a family that had squandered all its blessings.

Weren’t they so deeply in love? Let them have what they wanted, so as not to stain Ifeoma’s name.

Let them live with their choices. Let the world see their true faces.

As I left, I threw out a piece of paper, on which two words stood out—

Divorce.

The word was bold, unmissable. The crowd gasped. A woman does not lightly cast aside her husband, but I was no ordinary woman.

"Musa Danjuma, you are not worthy to be buried with her."

My words rang out, cold as the grave. Let history record it: The ancestors will know—Ify was too good for any of you.