“Jesus! My chest!” I screamed, dropping my phone on the tiles. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. “So this is it? This is the man I married?”
I ran to the toilet and threw up everything I had eaten that morning.
Before I show you the video that destroyed my 5-year marriage in seconds, let me tell you how it all started.
My name is Mrs. Adewale, and I have been married to Femi for five years now.
We were that couple everyone envied in church. We wore matching Ankara every Sunday, held hands during praise and worship, and Femi always opened the car door for me.
“God has blessed you with a good man,” my mother would always say whenever she visited from the village.
But there was one problem.
For five years, we had been looking for the fruit of the womb.
We went to hospitals, we did tests, and the doctors said we were both fine. “Unexplained Infertility,” they called it.
But Femi was convinced it was spiritual.
“It is your village people,” he would say. Or sometimes, he would blame our housemaid, Chidera.
Chidera was a small girl, just 16 years old, who my mother brought to help me.
She was quiet, hardworking, and very respectful.
But Femi h@ted her.
“I don’t like the way that girl looks at me,” Femi complained one night. “I think she is a witch. Since she came to this house, things have been going backward.”
I defended Chidera. “Honey, she is just a child. She does nothing wrong.”
But then, things started missing in the house.
First, it was my gold earrings. Then my money. Then pieces of meat from the pot.
Femi was furious. “I told you! She is a thief and a witch! We must sack her!”
I begged him to calm down. “Let me catch her first. I don’t want to accuse an innocent child falsely.”
That was how I decided to install a hidden camera in the kitchen and the living room.
I wanted to catch Chidera stealing so I could send her back to the village with evidence.
I bought the camera online. It looked exactly like a wall clock. Nobody would suspect a thing.
I set it up on a Monday morning before leaving for work.
“Today is the day,” I told myself.
I went to work, anxious. I couldn’t wait to get home and check the footage.
At exactly 5 PM, I rushed back home.
Femi was not back from work yet. Chidera was in the kitchen washing plates.
I quickly went to the living room, took down the “clock,” and removed the memory card.
I inserted it into my laptop and started watching.
The first few hours were boring.
Just Chidera cleaning, sweeping, and singing gospel songs.
“She hasn’t stolen anything yet,” I thought.
Then, the time stamp on the video showed 12:30 PM.
Femi came home.
I was surprised. Femi usually doesn’t come home for lunch.
“Maybe he forgot something?” I thought.
In the video, Femi walked into the kitchen.
Chidera was not there. She had gone to the backyard to spread clothes.
Femi looked left and right, checking if anyone was watching.
Then he opened the pot of soup. The Ogbono soup I made specifically for my ovulation week because the doctor said I should eat well.
What Femi did next made my bl00d run cold.
He brought out a small black bottle from his pocket.
He opened it and poured a dark, thick liquid into the soup.
Then, he spat inside the pot three times.
I watched in horror as my “loving” husband stirred the soup.
Mixing the p0ison. Or whatever juju that was. Into the food I was supposed to eat to conceive his child.
But that wasn’t all.
He walked to the fridge.
He brought out the water bottle I take my vitamins with.
He poured the remaining liquid inside.
He smiled.
A wicked, cold smile I had never seen on his face before.
“Eat and d!e,” he whispered. The camera picked up his voice clearly. “You think you will carry my child and inherit my property? Never.”
I paused the video.
My heart stopped beating for a second.
So Femi was the one?
All the miscarriages? The constant stomach p@ins? The sickness that doctors couldn’t explain?
It was him.
My husband.
The man I prayed with every morning.
I was still staring at the screen, tears rolling down my eyes, when I heard the sound of a car driving into the compound.
Femi is back.
He is walking up the stairs now, whistling that same gospel song we sang in church last Sunday.
“Honey! I’m home!” he just shouted from the door.
He expects me to serve him food.
He expects me to smile and welcome him.
He doesn’t know I have seen the face of the devil.
I am currently hiding inside the wardrobe with my laptop.
My hands are shaking, but I know one thing.
Tonight, the hunter will become the hunted.
I will not confront him yet. No.
I have a better plan.
If you want to know what I did to Femi that night that made the police beg me to stop, type “Proceed.”
You won’t believe how this ends? 😭😭💔
