Words from a wounded heart

Abigail….

I was standing in a queue at the bank a few days ago when someone in front of me received a phone call.

“Hello, Abigail,” the person said.

Instant goosebumps covered my body. Chills ran down my spine and my heart began to beat fast.

Over twenty years ago, Abigail once told me that a time would come when I would hear her name and shiver. I laughed it off then. I told her she was bluffing, that her words were empty threats from an angry teenager. I never imagined they would come back to haunt me like this.

We were neighbours back then. I lived with my older brother and his family, while Abigail lived in the next flat with her very strict parents. Abigail was dark-skinned, chubby and very beautiful. She was not allowed to have male friends but for some reason, her parents liked me. I could visit their apartment anytime I wanted.

I was in the university then and only came home during holidays. Whenever I returned from school, I bought things for everyone. I schooled in Northern Nigeria, so I often brought kulikuli, onions or kilishi. The neighbours loved me for that.

“Austin is kind and responsible,” they would say.

I also helped the neighbourhood children with mathematics. Parents used me as an example when scolding their kids. While all of this was going on, nobody knew, nobody even suspected that Abigail and I had been secretly dating for almost two years.

My brother’s wife was suspicious. She once asked me about it but I denied everything. She said the eyes do not lie and that she could see how Abigail looked at me. I denied it strongly. She warned me not to play with a young girl’s heart if I was not serious. I assured her we were just good friends.

After all, everyone knew my preference for light-skinned ladies, especially after living in the North and seeing beautiful light-skinned Fulani women.

Then, Abigail gained admission to study Economics at a university in Delta State. I took her out to celebrate. We ended up at my friend Chris’s house. I had already informed him, so after a few minutes, he excused himself and left us alone.

That afternoon, I convinced Abigail to sleep with me. I told her it would be her send-off gift and a sign of commitment that she would not date anyone else in school. She was scared. She said no at first. But eventually, she gave in.

A few months later, Abigail came home from school and told me she was pregnant. My jaw dropped.

I knew the pregnancy was mine. I knew Abigail was a good girl. But I was not ready to be responsible for a child or a young girl. I was about to go for youth service. I had my whole life ahead of me. Becoming a father at twenty-two was not part of my plan. Besides, she was not my spec. I told her to go and look for the father of her child and not pin rubbish on me. She couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. She cried and begged me but I pushed her away.

That same night, she told her parents.

I was in my room when I heard her father’s voice thunder through the compound. Then there was a loud knocking on our door. Silence followed. Then my brother started screaming my name. I walked into the living room, my heart pounding, but I pretended not to be afraid.

The questioning began, and I denied everything with my full chest. I asked Abigail to name anyone who knew we were dating, not to talk of sleeping together. She mentioned Chris, the friend whose house we had visited. Everyone agreed we would go there the next morning. At that point, I knew I was in trouble. There was no way to reach Chris to warn him.

The next morning, we all went to Chris’s house. I was shaking inside. I was asked to wait downstairs while they went up. When they came back down, I knew I owed Chris my life. He had understood the bro code. Chris told them he had never seen Abigail before and didn’t know who she was. My heart broke as I watched Abigail crumble.

“Austin, please tell the truth,” she kept begging.

But I refused. Then she did something dramatic. She removed her sandals and stood barefoot on the floor. She looked up to the sky, called my name three times, and said:

“Austin, you will never hear the cry of a child in your home, and a time will come when you will hear my name and shiver in fear.”

Her mother held her tightly, and her father led them away. All I could say was, “See me see wahala o.” But deep inside, I was afraid.

My brother’s wife later called me aside. She said she knew I was lying and begged me to tell the truth. I still denied everything. I never returned to my brother’s house after that. That was the last time I saw Abigail.

Months later, my brother’s wife sent me a picture of Abigail’s baby boy. No words. Just the picture. It was enough. The resemblance was undeniable. The boy was mine. Still, I stood my ground.

Years passed. I married Meg, the love of my life. She was everything I wanted. We had a beautiful marriage for three years, but no children came. Doctors said we were both fine and advised patience.

Then came Chris. He visited and stayed with us. We went out for dinner. I knew he didn’t drink alcohol, so I was shocked when he finished an entire bottle of red wine.

He got drunk and began to talk.

He talked about Abigail.

Meg listened in shock as Chris told everything. That night, Meg did not come home with me. She ordered a cab and left. Days later, her family came with a truck and packed her things. They returned her wedding ring and fixed a date to return the bride price. They said there was no reason for her to stay married to a man like me.

Life became hard.

After two years, I married again. Just like before, she was my spec. I kept friends like Chris far away. But years passed and still no child. My desperation grew. My wife seemed unbothered. She already had a child from a previous relationship, so I knew the problem was not hers.

Then one day, Facebook suggested someone as “People You May Know.”

It was Abigail.

My hands shook as I clicked her profile. The first picture I saw was a boy at his graduation ceremony in an American university. He looked exactly like me when I was younger.

He stood beside Abigail, her husband and other children.

Abigail looked radiant. Mature. More beautiful. She had three more children after our son. Her husband looked familiar—like a celebrity.

A few days later, I heard her name again at the bank.

Abigail…..

And I shivered.

Maybe it was a sign to go and get my son. After all, the boy was mine.

Abigail had no right to curse me and then move on with her life.

I had to do something.

And soon.

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