MY MISTRESS, MY WIFE, MY DOOM – By Nwachukwu Obinna

MAY, 1993


The thought of having a son has been very delightful for me. My wife, Folake saw my felicity the day scan showed she was pregnant with a boy. I sat patiently that day, waiting for the unerring news of her delivery. The 24th day of the month of May became an indelible day for me. It was the day my wife delivered our first male child. She applauded the improvement in my behavior from that day onwards. I would volunteer to go the market; be the one to cook the daily meal. I even took leave from the office and dissolved my sexual relations with my adorable mistress Rosita just so I can spend more time with her and my newborn.


I was perplexed; never had I seen my husband in such happy mood before. With three female children already, I am still unable to fathom why this bambino became his most favorite. But I enjoy every moment of his presence. Comparing it to the days when it was my most profound desire. When he would spend months outside the country on business trips. And all I would get from him was phone call once in two weeks. If only my prayers had been answered sooner, it would have saved me the stress of having to work three shifts a day. But those had become memories forsaken.



The 15th day in the month of September of that same year became a day of woe for me. It was the day my happiness disappeared, giving way to extreme sadness in my life. After seeing my baby lifeless under my wife’s body, I was shocked; and unable to comprehend as to why Folake would have been so careless to have slept on the baby. My love for her transforms into abhorrence. Her presence begins to loathe me, filling me with disgust and contempt. I chased her out of our home, after accusing her of witchcraft.


My worst nightmares begin. The thought has been so careless haunts me. How could I have been the one to kill my own child. It is excruciating. And what makes it more unbearable is that my husband had called me a witch. Claiming I used our two months old baby for rituals. My joy had turned into ashes in my mouth. Grief and anguish have now become my only companions.



Days came and gone, turning into weeks. And weeks turned into months. But every single day had been a struggle for me. I can hardly sleep at night. Nightmares of my dead son kept interposing. I needed consolation. And it’s been long I felt the warmth of a woman. So I decided to make up with my former mistress, Rosita. With an assurance of marriage and an oath of fidelity I was able to lure Rosita into my home and back into my arms. The same Rosita whom I befriended for six years and abandoned for the rich man’s daughter Folake. Despite such betrayal, this same Rosita, pleaded with me to be a mistress, claiming she would commit suicide rather than to live the rest of her life without having to feel my warmth again. And this same Rosita I dumped again after the birth of my late son.

Storried My Mistress


With my presence, Mr. Okoh’s gayness was restored. I can feel it, it’s as if I’ve brought every light he lost back to his life. He always compares me to his wife, claiming I am an exceedingly painstaking individual and also very inventive. I devote every moment of my existence in making sure my now soon-to-be husband is at bliss. Cooking his meals with special ingredients, washing his dirty laundries whenever necessary and taking him on a walk through heavens myth with my artful capabilities during sex all in a bid to hasten his marriage proposal. I overhear neighbors murmur gossips of bewitchment, and he told me his colleagues whispered words of ‘just a mere enchantment.’ But to him, he’s just a man who is now drowning in a pool of bliss. A man who has finally regained his sight, having been blinded by his lust for wealth for so many years. He ignores the whispers that flew around him and laid focus on divorcing his wife and making me, his new wife.


Few months after being chased from my home, I receive a letter from my husband’s lawyer. It’s a divorce letter with his signature already written on it. As if that wasn’t enough to rekindle my anguish, two weeks after our divorce I receive an invitation card. It’s a marriage of my ex-husband with a woman named Rosita. I was given full ownership of my daughters without stress and words of consolations pour in daily from my family and my friends. Notwithstanding, my grief transforms into extreme hatred. How could he be so heartless and unforgiving? Venom surge inside of me and all I want passionately is to end the life of this man I once called ‘husband’. After much thought, I sneak out of my family home one midnight dressed in a black sweat suit with a face cap and a black sneaker. With the pistol I had bought from the pawnshop two days ago well hidden in my right pocket, I walk down, all the way to my former home. Not minding if I will be seen or caught.


I woke up to the feel of a strong grip covering my mouth. I can see the rage in her eyes as I struggle to breathe. Amidst the hold, questions pop into my head, and I want to speak but I can’t because the hold is too tight. Then the sheet was pulled away from me and with a gun pressed tightly against my head I was given a handcuff to cuff myself with. Quickly and without a word, I oblige, afraid of what may happen next. Then a terrible blow to my skull brings me down to the bed unconscious.


I got to my former home, with my own keys, I silently open the front door, walk stealthily on the path that leads directly to the master’s bedroom. There was no other place my silly husband and his new wife will rather be found at this time of the night. ‘Probably, they were sleeping, cuddled tightly’ I thought to myself. And that thought increases the rage that I feel already. Strangling the both of them will be just what will give me an undying satisfaction. But it is a dangerous idea. I got to the entrance; the doorway was slightly opened but the room was dark. I breathe out contentment, as unlocking the door would have been a challenge for me. I reach for the pistol and silently creep into the room. Another burning desire for me is for my ex-husband to look into my eyes before I blow his brains off. I switch on the light and my gaze moves to my naked ex-husband lying on the bed and alone. I quickly check the bathroom to see if his new wife is there. But she’s not so I have to just finish this job I’m here for before something goes wrong. I grin, staring intently at my naked ex-husband on the bed cuffed and asleep. With the handle of the pistol I hit him hard on the head in a bid to wake him up. But he was still. I hit him harder the second time, but it was all to no avail. The thought of him dead, sends a spark of anger running through my body system. I am suppose to be the one to end his life for good. Just as I was about to flip over his body to be sure my suspicion was real, I heard light footsteps in the corridor, approaching the doorway. I quickly hide in the open bathroom.


I run towards the door as I heard the knock not wanting it to wake my husband. I knew it’s Chris, my heavily built brother as I’ve been expecting him. We both walk down to where my husband is, lying fast asleep on the bed. Chris pressed his palms to his mouth tightly while I stood there gazing at his bulging eyeballs. The fear in his eyes is sympathetic. I loved him, I know I did. But right now the hatred I have for him is beyond comparison. How could he have left me for years? With the feeling of rage burning inside of me, I hit him very hard on his head and about to strangle out every ounce of life he has left, Chris grabs me and we both leave the room for our next task. After ransacking the house for every paper and naira notes we can find we came back to the bedroom to finish off what we started. As Chris is about to pull the trigger, I heard a gunshot and saw Chris body on the floor gushing out blood. The next gunshot brings me down to my knees bleeding profusely.


Seconds later I begin hearing voices inside the room. One is feminine and another voice sounds masculine. The masculine voice advises for the body to be moved out and buried alive. But the feminine voice argues against it, claiming it will be a risk. Out of curiosity, I peek through a slight opening in the bathroom door. A tall beautiful woman is standing beside a heavily built man with a rugged countenance and both of them looking at my ex-husband’s motionless body. I am a bit scared and confused about what to do. But as the man brings out a gun and is about to pull the trigger, I courageously walk out of the bathroom and shoot him. I wait for a while to confirm if the woman is the mystery wife, Rosita before shooting her straight in the chest. I took one more glance at my ex-husband’s motionless body and before walking out of the room I finish the Job I came for and left his body to rot.



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  1. Mike Anya says:

    Beautiful narration.

  2. mikeanya says:

    Beautiful Narration!

  3. Nwachukwu Obinna says:


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By Nwachukwu Obinna

MAY, 1993


The thought of having a son has been very delightful for me. My wife, Folake saw my felicity the day scan showed


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