Chapter one
My name is Affan. I am a decent and hardworking man. I didn’t go to school much, and I
don’t have a degree, but I believe in honesty, effort, and prayers. From a young age, I
learned that life doesn’t always go the way you want, so you must fight for what you
dream of.
I started small, selling fertilizer in my local market. It was not easy at first. Sometimes I
would sit all day under the hot sun and not sell a single bag. But I never gave up. Slowly,
with patience and consistency, my business began to grow. People started trusting me
because I was honest with prices and always treated them with respect.
Over the years, I saved every naira I could. While some of my friends spent their profits
on fancy clothes and parties, I was focused on building something lasting. I rented a
small shop at first, then later, I was able to open a big store — one of the biggest
fertilizer stores in our area.
My business became my pride. I was able to take care of my parents, who had sacrificed
so much for me. My father was getting old, and my mother’s health was not strong, so it
gave me joy to provide for them without asking anyone for help. Seeing them smile after
eating good food or resting in a comfortable house always gave me peace.
After a few years, by Allah’s grace, I was able to build my own house — a three-bedroom
apartment. It was not too big, but it was neat and decent. I used good tiles, painted it
nicely, and made sure it had everything a family could need. Whenever I looked at that
house, I felt proud of myself. It was the fruit of my sweat and sleepless nights.
Even though I didn’t go to university, people respected me. They knew me as someone
who worked hard and stayed away from trouble. I didn’t smoke, I didn’t drink, and I
didn’t chase women. My only focus was my business, my family, and my future.
Sometimes I sat outside my shop in the evening, watching people go by, and I thanked
God for how far I had come. I didn’t have everything, but I had peace, a good name, and a
strong mind. I always told myself that one day, I would get married to a woman who
would understand me — someone who would stand by me no matter what.
I didn’t know that life had another plan.
Because sometimes, the people we love the most are the ones who break us the hardest.After some years of working hard and living a peaceful life, a day came that changed
everything for me. That was the day I met Nafisa.
It happened at the hospital. My mother had been feeling unwell for some days, so I took
her there for a checkup. While waiting at the reception, I noticed a young nurse moving
from one patient to another with so much care and calmness. She wasn’t loud like some
other nurses; she was soft-spoken and respectful. Her voice carried kindness, and her
smile had this quiet beauty that made people feel comfortable around her. That was the
first day I saw Nafisa, the woman who would later become my wife.
We didn’t talk much that day, but something about her stayed in my heart. A few days
later, I went back to the hospital to collect my mother’s test result, and luckily, I saw her
again. This time, I gathered courage and greeted her. She smiled and responded
politely. We talked for a short while — just normal talk — but in that moment, I felt a
connection.
From that day, we started talking more often. I would pass by the hospital sometimes
just to greet her, and with time, we exchanged numbers. We started chatting, and our
conversations grew deeper. Nafisa told me about her life, how she was raised by her
aunt after losing her parents. She said her dream was to be a good nurse and help
people. I admired her because she was humble, calm, and spoke with wisdom.
In less than two months, we became very close. She told me she loved how hardworking
and responsible I was. I told her I loved how caring and gentle she was. We both believed
we were meant for each other. Our relationship was simple — no drama, no noise. We
prayed together, shared our dreams, and supported each other.
After about five months of dating, I decided to marry her. I didn’t see any reason to wait
longer. She was everything I wanted in a woman — respectful, religious, and beautiful in
a quiet way. Our wedding was small but beautiful. Friends, family, and neighbors came
to celebrate with us. I remember looking at her that day, sitting beside me in her white
gown, and thinking, “Alhamdulillah, I have found peace.”
After marriage, life continued smoothly. I remained focused on my fertilizer business,
waking up early every morning to attend to customers and manage my workers. I was
not a man of luxury. I didn’t buy expensive things or live a flashy life. I believed in decent
living — earning your money honestly, eating what you can afford, and staying away
from pride.
Nafisa was everything a man could ask for — at least, that was what I thought. She was
calm, lovely, and caring. I trusted her with everything I had. She became the heart of myhome.
I didn’t know that behind her sweet smile, there were secrets waiting to destroy the
peace I worked so hard to build.
To be honest, I respected my wife so much. From the first day we got married, I saw her
not just as a wife, but as a partner — someone who would walk beside me through life.
She was educated, a nurse who worked in a government hospital, and I admired that a
lot. I didn’t go far in school, so I valued her education deeply. I used to tell her, “You are
the light of this home. One day, our children will be proud to have a mother like you.”
I respected her for who she was and for how hard she worked. I saw how she woke up
early to prepare for work, iron her uniform, and head out before sunrise. Sometimes she
came home tired, and I would help her with little things — serving food, fetching water,
or helping tidy the sitting room. I never saw it as a man lowering himself; I saw it as love
and teamwork.
I made sure she had everything she needed. Even though I wasn’t rich, my business was
stable. I owned one of the biggest fertilizer stores in the area, so I was able to provide
for her — good food, new clothes, and even a small allowance every month for her
personal needs. I wanted her to feel loved and valued.
I didn’t have a car, but I had a motorcycle that I used for my daily movement — going to
the market, to the mosque, or to check my shop. Many times, friends and even family
asked me, “Affan, why don’t you buy a car? You can afford one.” I would smile and tell
them, “A car is not my priority right now. As long as I can move around and my family
eats well, I’m content.”
That was the kind of man I was. I didn’t care for luxury or showing off. I preferred peace
of mind to unnecessary expenses. My goal was to build a strong foundation — to save
money, to expand my business, and to prepare for the future of my children.
Whenever Nafisa talked about cars or admired someone driving a fancy one, I would
laugh and say, “Insha’Allah, when the time is right, we will have ours.” I thought she
understood. She always smiled and nodded, and that made me feel like we were on the
same page.
To me, she was not just my wife — she was my pride. I told people about her with
happiness. I always said, “My wife is a nurse. She’s educated. She will help our children
study well.” I trusted her completely. I gave her freedom because I believed in her. She
went to work daily, and sometimes she came back late due to night shifts. I nevercomplained, because I knew the nature of her job.
At home, I treated her like a queen. I made sure her family lacked nothing. I even helped
her younger brother get a small job at the market. Her parents used to thank me, saying
I was a good husband. And truly, I tried my best to be one.
Sometimes at night, when we sat together after dinner, we talked about our dreams. I
told her how I wanted to open another branch of my fertilizer business in another town,
and she said she wanted to open a small clinic of her own one day. I encouraged her,
telling her I would support her in every way I could.
I was content with what I had — my wife, my family, my home, and my work. To me, that
was happiness. I didn’t chase women, I didn’t drink, and I didn’t waste time in clubs or
gambling spots like other men. I was simply a man trying to live right, trying to be the
best husband I could.
But life can be strange. Sometimes, while you’re busy giving your best, someone else is
slowly drifting away from you without your knowledge.
I didn’t know that behind my love and sacrifices, a dark truth was waiting for me. I didn’t
know that the same woman I respected and trusted with all my heart would one day
betray me — not because I wasn’t good enough, but because she desired more than love
and honesty could offer.
Our life routine was simple. Every day felt almost the same, and I liked it that way. I am a
man who doesn’t like too much noise or unnecessary drama. I wake up early, pray Fajr,
and prepare for the day. By 8 a.m., I leave the house and head to my shop. My life
revolves around my fertilizer business and my customers — most of them are farmers
who depend on me for their supplies.
My work takes me around different villages. Some days, I go to the farms myself to see
how the fertilizers I sell are being used. It helps me understand my customers better
and build trust. The farmers liked me because I treated them fairly and always delivered
on time. They would call me “Malam Affan, the honest one.” That name alone was
enough to make me proud.
I usually returned home after Isha prayer, tired but content. Every day, before I reached
the house, I would pass by a small kiosk near the junction to buy bread or fruits for my
wife. I enjoyed seeing her smile when I came home with something, even if it was small.
At home, Nafisa was always there to welcome me. She would open the door, collect mybag, and ask how my day went. She cooked delicious meals — rice, tuwo, sometimes
miyan taushe — and served me with respect. I liked how she arranged our home, how
clean she kept everything. Sometimes, when I came in, I would see her sitting in the
living room watching TV quietly, dressed neatly in her house gown. She looked peaceful,
and it made me thank Allah for giving me a good woman.
Our life wasn’t about luxury, but we were happy. We didn’t have a car or big furniture,
but the peace inside our home was worth more than anything. We laughed together
sometimes, especially when I joked about how she looked serious whenever she was
cooking. She would laugh and say, “If you were the one cooking, you would have burnt
the food.”
Every morning, she made breakfast before leaving for work. She would iron her uniform,
pack her small lunch, and leave around 7:30 a.m. I always made sure she had money for
transport and anything else she needed. I wanted her to focus on her job and not worry
about small things.
In the evening, when she came back before me, she would call to ask where I was and
whether she should warm the food. Sometimes she said, “Don’t stay too long at the
shop. You’ll get tired.” Those small words always made me feel loved. I believed we had
a good understanding — a peaceful marriage built on care and patience.
Even on weekends, when I didn’t go to the farm, I stayed home and helped her with small
things. I wasn’t the type of husband who shouted or raised my hand. I believed marriage
was about respect and calmness. We prayed together, ate together, and sometimes
went out to visit her family. Everyone who saw us said we looked like the perfect couple.
Everything seemed fine. I never imagined anything could go wrong. I thought I had
everything a man could ask for — a stable business, a peaceful home, and a loving wife.
But life has a way of hiding storms behind clear skies. I didn’t know that while I was out
working hard to build our future, something inside our home was slowly changing.
Nafisa’s heart was beginning to drift away, even though I couldn’t see it yet.
At that time, I was living in peace, blind to the signs that were already appearing — small
things I ignored because I trusted her too much.
Life was peaceful between me and Nafisa. We had built a calm home filled with laughter
and understanding. Months turned into years, and soon she became pregnant. That
period brought so much joy into our lives. I remember how I used to watch her sleep and
silently thank Allah for blessing me with a woman who carried my child.I took care of her through the pregnancy the best way I could. I made sure she ate well,
rested enough, and went for her clinic check-ups. Sometimes, when I closed early from
my shop, I would pass by her workplace just to check on her and bring her snacks or
fruit juice. Seeing her smile gave me strength to work harder.
When she finally gave birth, it was one of the happiest days of my life. She delivered a
healthy baby boy, and that moment made me feel complete. Everyone around us
celebrated — family, friends, neighbors. They came to our home, congratulating us,
bringing small gifts for the baby. I looked at her in the hospital bed holding our child and
felt like all my years of struggle were finally worth it.
After she recovered, life became even more beautiful. She continued working, but now
at a clinic nearby, which made things easier for her. She didn’t have to travel far, and she
could come home anytime she needed to. She loved her job and seemed to enjoy being a
mother too. I tried to support her as much as I could — helping with small things around
the house, paying every bill, and making sure our son lacked nothing.
People around us admired our little family. They said we were a perfect match — an
educated, hardworking woman and a simple, successful businessman. I felt proud every
time I heard that. I used to tell my friends, “Marry a woman who understands you, not
one who wants to compete with you.” At that time, I believed Nafisa truly understood
me.
Because she was more educated than me, I trusted her with anything that involved
paperwork or formal things. Whenever I needed to write letters, sign documents, or
handle anything involving banks or business registration, I would ask for her help. She
always said, “Don’t worry, I’ll do it for you.” I thought that was love.
One day, I decided to discuss something serious with her. My business was growing
fast, and I was beginning to handle more money and more clients. I told her, “Nafisa, I
want you to help me organize my finances. I know you are educated and can handle
these things better. I want everything to be clear and properly arranged.”
At first, she was surprised. She asked, “Are you sure you want me to see everything?”
I laughed and said, “Of course. You’re my wife. You deserve to know what we have and
how we are doing.”
That was the day she saw everything — my full financial records, my shop documents,
my savings account details, and my list of assets. She saw that my fertilizer store had
goods worth about ₦13 million, and that I had over ₦4 million in savings. I also had a fewsmall properties — a piece of land, a half-built house in my village, and a small plot I
bought for future investment.
When she saw all that, her expression changed a little. I noticed it, but I didn’t think
much of it. She smiled and said, “You’ve done well, Affan. You’ve really worked hard.”
I smiled proudly and replied, “Alhamdulillah. It’s all through patience and God’s mercy.”
But deep inside her eyes, I saw something that day — a look I couldn’t explain. Maybe it
was surprise, or maybe something else I didn’t understand then.
From that day forward, things slowly began to change. She became quieter sometimes,
spending more time on her phone, scrolling through social media, and chatting with
people I didn’t know. But I didn’t suspect anything wrong. I thought she was just tired
from work or adjusting to motherhood.
I never hid anything from her. I told her about every business deal, every new order, and
every plan for the future. I wanted her to feel like my true partner. I didn’t realize that
showing her everything would later open a door I could never close again.
At that moment, I believed our marriage had become stronger because of the trust I
showed her. I believed she would appreciate how transparent I was and love me even
more for it.
But what I didn’t know was that sometimes, too much trust can make you vulnerable. I
didn’t know that revealing everything about my financial life would awaken something in
her heart — something dangerous, something I couldn’t see coming.
All I knew was that I had a wife who smiled at me, a baby who called me father, and a
business that was growing every day. I thought I was living my best life.
But I was standing at the edge of a story that would soon turn my peaceful world upside
down.