Daki adjusted the timing as the rain poured heavily in Kaduna town, like a rushing flood, quickly covering the mirrors and other unsecured items in the room for safety. At that moment, only those familiar with such situations would ensure such things were kept away while the rain poured from the sky, protecting against lightning strikes.  

Falo returned to sit with her child, who was eating at the time. Her eyes lingered on the two children, not because she was watching them—her mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts about the kind of life she now found herself trapped in.  

Since Nafisa entered their lives, everything about her marriage and their way of life had changed abruptly. It was no longer the peaceful routine they were used to—not with their children or even extended family. Even the children now struggled, preferring to stay at their father's house rather than their grandfather's home due to the current pressures.  

For her, the marriage between her and her husband was once built on love since childhood—their love had deep roots because their family homes were close, and he was her cousin. There was also a neighborly bond that had grown as strong as blood ties between their households since their grandparents' time. A stranger wouldn’t even be able to tell them apart unless they knew the history.  

She had her first child safely, and by the second, he got a job, and they moved. Not long after, he met Nafisa, a girl from Niger whose parents had brought her to Nigeria in search of money. Her mother had initially neglected her until he started paying attention—they sold food near their local government office.  

Her son, who had come to where she sat lost in thought, interrupted her by saying, "Mama, Daddy hasn’t come back—Aunty has returned."  

She patted the boy’s head, trying to ease her worries, and replied, "He hasn’t returned. Affan, did you see him come in? It’s just Aunty who returned alone."  

"When will Daddy come back, Mama?" the child pressed.  

"Affan, I don’t know. If he returns, you’ll see him," she answered.  

He didn’t let her rest, asking again, "Mama, Aunty won’t even let us see him or go near him."  

She replied, "Let’s go out. We shouldn’t disturb him—he’s resting."  

She smiled and said, "Affan, isn’t he always here where you see him? Why do you keep asking?" The boy fell silent, as if lost in his own thoughts.  

Then he said, "Mama, I don’t even want him to come back."  

Affan’s mother asked him why, and he replied, "Because when he comes back, you cry, Mama. Then you and Aunty laugh and go out together."  

"Affan, I don’t like too much noise. If you keep talking, I might cover one ear—I’m afraid your loud mouth will bring us more trouble."  

The boy stayed quiet, thinking to himself that he didn’t want his mother to cover her ears as she had said. He watched as she cleared the dishes, cleaned up, and then they went to their bedroom.  

In the morning, she didn’t leave until she had freshened up and headed to the kitchen to cook for the children before school. But she found the kitchen locked.  

She went to the working room of Laraba, where she found her and said, "Today is Wednesday—why is the kitchen locked?"  

Laraba replied, "It’s Hajiya Karama’s doing."  

"I’ll go and sort it out," she said, leaving her. She knocked on the door, but it remained locked. She thought to herself, "You locked it because of the children’s food?" Then she locked the kitchen again.  

She stood for a moment, lost in thought—"Is this Nafisa’s doing?" Food was supposed to be for everyone in the house, but whenever she got upset, she would claim too much food was being wasted.  

After cooking, she would often give some away, but now, with his increased status at work, they no longer faced hardships in their lives.  

Laraba’s voice echoed, "Patience, Hajiya. When a man prospers, you must follow his lead." Because she believed she had secured a husband, whatever she said in the house was law.