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when your pastor sweatly preached to you, you were reluctant to believe his sermons. Papa himself morally counselled you, yet you lightly welcomed his words. Your friends were not left out of the case; they were kind enough to admonish you against the heartless state of your mind but you proudly pleaded to be left alone. You did not want to be controlled by anyone. Your heart was as black as charcoal and was, of course, immersed in snub and animosity towards others as though the world had greatly offended you and you needed to be appeased like the god of thunder or the god of iron. There was no calmness, no kindness and no usefulness among the qualities you possessed. When Mama Nkechi last craved you to help lapping her six-month-old son, you agreed but after a minute of lapping the child, you clandestinely scratched a part of his weak and soft body, using a finger that looked like slender dagger. Then, he wailed louder. Quickly, his mother sat up from the couch and grasped him from your brutal hands, thinking he was peckish, thinking he wanted to suck out the milk from her breasts. Almost immediately, you stood up, walked to your apartment and slumped on your bed.
You were twenty-five-year at that time. But no sooner had you clocked twenty eight than you abruptly retreated into your facade of calmness, obedience and caring. You employed them all as a tactic in a bid to win you a partner. You wanted to put a distance between yourself and the mockery of some ballads and people at large regarding your marital status. The tactic worked out so fine as Kunle later fell a victim. You were walking on the road in the scorching sun when he stepped his foot on the brake and wounded down the screenglass whose direction you were.
  ‘May I give you a lift?’ he asked and you gave a resounding yes.
 You exchanged contacts as soon as you were about to bound out of his car.
Your rapport snowballed to amorous relationship. You seemed to love each other so much. You were lovebirds He took you to his mother. You shyly walked to Mama and knelt before her, your ankles kissing the ground, your head also examining your ankles as they romanced the rug.  She was wowed. She scrutinized you from head to toe; the beauty that shadowed your pysique stunned her.
  ‘Sit down, my wife,’ she friendly said.
 Her face was darted to Kunle, ‘You made the right choice, son,’
Kunle fiddled with your hands and even kissed your forehead to show the gravity of his love for you. Mama walked to the kitchen. Thanks to common sense this time round; you went after her to wash the dish and do the cooking.
You and Kunle walked down the blissful matrimony. You relocated to his mansion. His mother did live in the same building with you. Kunle himself barely stayed around because he was a tourist who worked at different companies from where wads of cash visited his bank accounts and refused to leave unless he plucked them.
One Saturday, your paid a courtesy visit to your prospective mother-in-law, Mama. Your mission was to assist her to scrub the linen. You did. You also helped her to make a pot of palatable meal. She was grateful and thanked her star and spirit that her only son never made the mistake of marrying the wrong person. She not only saw you as her wife but also as her daughter because, to her, you were so precious and was like an egg which was to be treated gently. You left for your abode.  Mama promised to come visiting in the week after next.
The hour came. But while she was coming to see you, she got involved in a road accident. Serious injury crowded her legs. Kunle wept bitterly. He rushed her to the hospital. He refused to go work for good two months because he felt it’d be great to stay with his mother who sacrificed all for him. He hired a housemaid. Mama now lived with you. She could no longer walk; she sat on a wheelchair.
Mama begged Kunle to resume work that you and Bisola, the housemaid, would nurture her. Bisola was to pull Mama around the house to keep her mind out of boredom. Kunle was reluctant to resume work but since the command was from his dear mother, he surrendered.
When Kunle called inform you over the phone that he would be taking his mother to abroad for treatment, you started to hate Mama. You did not want him to spend the intending eight million on her, so you plotted against her. You starved her. You seized her phone so his son would not be aware. Each time Kunle called, you would tell him you made coffee for mama, you cooked chickens for her and you you gave her potent drugs to ease the pains in her. And Kunle would salute you, praise you and even credit your bank account with money just to appreciate your kindness.
Mama was hungry. She requested for a plate of Amala. You told her to manage casavaflakes. She sent for Bisola to get her something edible to eat, Bisola could not answer because she feared she would be dealt with by you; you already warned her not to give Mama anything again. Mama became more hungry, yet you showed no mercy. You also seized Bisola’s mobile phone for fear that Kunle would call Mama through it.
Kunle phoned to speak with his mother, you lied that she was asleep. You have started unleashing the evil spirit that had been seeking to be exploded from your stomach.
Kunle would soon be around to take Mama to abroad for treatment. You could not wait for sum a huge amount of money to be spent. You had to do something. One of your friends visited came visiting. You sat at the sitting room. After some minutes of discussion, you sought her acquaintance as regards Mama’s mission to abroad; you did not want it to ever happen.  You both spoke louder because Bisola was already away to the market to purchase some foodstuffs. Your friend advised you to poison Mama’s meal. Bisola was at the threshold but you did not know.
You poisoned Mama’s food. As she sat down to munch the food, Bisola hastened there and replaced the meal with a poison-free one.
After Mama had exhausted her plate of meal, you forcefully asked Bisola to take Mama around the town. She did by pushing wheelchair around. Everyone, who saw them, did think they had come for alms. They rejected alms after the other until Bisola got to where she could keep Mama.
She rushed to you, crying that Mama had died. Asked to know how she died, she said a trailer jammed her. You grasped her shirt, saying ‘You have killed my mother-in-law’. You collapsed down, your hands raising to your head. You called to break the sad news to Kunle over the phone. You said that Bisola had killed his mother.
  ‘What!’ Kunle yelled as he hung the phone.
He started the engine of his car, sprinting or revving it to join you at home. There were a gathering of mourners in the sitting room. Initially, he thought you were playing a prank until reality slapped him in the face.
  ‘Where is Bisola?’ you ordered, holding a machete. No visitor answered. You wept on. When the deluge of the visitors had somehow ebbed, you asked him to arrest Bisola and lock her in the custody  for years.
A strange number called Kunle’s phone number. He answered. He was called for a private tete-a-tete at a certain village. He did not tell you. He lied that he was going to report Bisola’s case at the police station. You supported him. He left. When he got there, he was surprised to see his mother whom he already thought had kicked the bucket.
  ‘What is happening?’ Kunle was gaped as he asked Bisola in wonder.
An old man narrated everything. He explained how you plotted to kill his mother. Mama also elucidated how you inhumanly treated her. Kunle ran amok. You came in with his mother, Bisola and the old man. You were told to pack out of his house. He got married to Bisola from whom Mama found peace.

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