Chapter 11: Ashes of Illusion
Richard came back with the kind of apology that felt rehearsed but looked real enough to believe. He showed up at her hostel gate unannounced, holding a bouquet of flowers and her favorite snack , coconut candy from a roadside vendor. His eyes looked pained. His voice was low.
"Zina, I messed up," he said. "I was scared. But not of you… of myself."
She didn't respond right away. She stood, watching him like he was a ghost she had dared to summon. And in that moment, her heart betrayed her again, it leapt.
"I want to do this right," he added. "I want to marry you."
It was all Zina had ever wanted to hear. The apology she had hoped for. The promise she had built stories around in her mind. And against all caution, against Lilian's warnings, against her own buried instincts, she said, "Okay."
---
Richard visited her parents weeks later, carrying bags of drinks and speaking with a polished smile. He collected the list for the marital rites, kola nuts, wrappers, gin, and other symbols of respect. Her father, still wary from Zina's first marriage, didn't smile, but he didn't protest either. Zina clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this would be her happy ending. She could feel the cracks in her soul filling slowly with soft light. Maybe this was what it meant to heal, not all at once, but in pieces, over time.
Even Lilian's side glances didn't sway her.
"Zina, love is not a patch for bleeding wounds," she said once.
But Zina didn't want to hear that.
She had already decided that this would work.
---
Then came another missed period.
Her fingers trembled as she held the pregnancy test in the hostel bathroom, eyes darting to the faint pink lines. She stood there, barefoot on cracked tiles, while other girls shouted and giggled in the background, unaware of the storm gathering in her chest.
She told Richard that evening. She expected a pause, maybe fear in his eyes, but not rejection.
Instead, he sighed.
"You're pregnant again?"
Zina nodded. "I want to keep it this time."
He was silent for a long time, pacing. Then he turned and said: "I can't marry you while you're pregnant. It'll look like I'm being forced. People will talk. My friends already suspect I'm rushing things. Let's wait. Let's do this the right way."
"But it's our child," she whispered. "I'm not ready, Zina. Not like this."
He pulled her close and kissed her temple. Then placed the small white pills in her hand.
It was déjà vu and it crushed her.
---
She sat on the bed that night staring at the pills, her tears soaking the bedsheet. Why did her body feel like a battleground? Why did she keep returning to this same place, empty, afraid, and unsure? She didn't want to talk to Lilian about it.
She didn't want to face the shame in her voice, or the disappointment in her friend's eyes.
Richard pampered her that week. He brought her food, rubbed her back, told her he loved her in ways that sounded like lullabies. It confused her more.
She took the pills. Again, and something inside her — something soft and sacred died a little more.
---
Zina convinced herself it was okay. That love sometimes asked for sacrifices. That once they were married, everything would fall into place. But her instincts, buried deep beneath fear and longing, kept whispering this is not love.
The guilt began to suffocate her.
She would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she'd ever be a mother again. She feared her body was already too damaged, her womb tired of grief.
Still, she stayed.
Because the alternative, being alone, unloved, and childless — terrified her more.
Richard became her addiction. Her punishment and her comfort. A loop she couldn't escape, and even as the cracks in their relationship deepened, she clung tighter.
He knew her fears. He used them.
He never mentioned birth control. Never suggested they plan properly. He knew she wouldn't. That her silence and guilt made her easy to sway.
And so it continued.
---
Four years.
Four years of waiting, of hoping, of shrinking herself to fit into his plans. Four years of broken promises and delayed introductions. Four D&Cs. Four different waves of grief she never fully recovered from.
Every new year came with a new excuse. "Let me get my business settled first," "We need to wait for my uncle to recover," "This is not the right time."
Zina waited.
Her friends graduated. Her juniors became seniors. Her body grew weary. Her heart, numb.
She smiled through conversations, nodded when her roommates talked about boyfriends and crushes, but inside, she was a shadow of herself, a girl whose story had paused somewhere, mid-sentence.she would usually stand infront of the mirror, touching her stomach, she would whisper "I am sorry".
---