Nancy Omunuzua

Nancy Omunuzua THANK YOU LORD FOR LOVING ME UNCONDITIONALLY 💖💖💖
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08/09/2025

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My husband told me he wanted to marry a second wife. Imagine! It wasn’t as if I had no children for him, I had already g...
08/09/2025

My husband told me he wanted to marry a second wife. Imagine! It wasn’t as if I had no children for him, I had already given him two fine sons.

We were okay, living well, but he just woke up one morning and declared that one woman was no longer enough for him. According to him, he needed “another woman.”

Now, my husband is the type who, once he makes a decision, nothing can move him to change it.

So, I said nothing.

The next day, he repeated it. He even announced that the introduction would be the following weekend and that I should prepare to welcome my co-wife with open arms.

Again, I didn’t argue, I didn’t complain. Why waste my energy? It was his decision.

But one thing was certain... I had my plans.

I let him go ahead with the introduction. I let him throw the traditional wedding in grand style, the kind of wedding that drains pockets and feeds gossipers.

Oh! I let him spend and spend, smiling all the while.

Then, the weekend he went for the white wedding, I quietly packed my bags, carried my two sons, drove off with my car, sold the house and everything in it, and returned all the documents to my father’s company.

Yes, you heard right, my father’s company, the very source of the wealth my husband had been flaunting.

Because let’s not forget; I was the one who made him rich. All that wealth wasn’t his sweat, it was mine.

And now, he wanted to reward me by bringing home a second wife?

Oh no. I didn’t need to shout, fight, or throw tantrums. I simply took everything that belonged to me and left. I left for another state.

If he wants to start afresh with his new wife, I was generous enough to give him that opportunity.

When he returned home and found the house was no longer his, he called me in panic to ask questions.

“Oh honey,” I told him sweetly, “I just took what belongs to me so that you and your new wife can enjoy each other in peace.”

He almost cried on the phone. “You know I don’t have money right now. I spent everything on this wedding. You never told me you didn’t want me to get married again! I spent literally everything because I thought you were comfortable with it! Now I’m left with nothing. And it’s your fellow woman we’re talking about here... your fellow woman will suffer? She’s pregnant. Can’t you at least have pity on her because of her condition?”

Pregnant? Ah! So, it didn’t even start with the wedding. He had been cheating on me all along!

Because I said nothing, he assumed I was comfortable with having a co-wife?

I laughed and told him calmly, “Then please, start a new life with your pregnant wife. But know this, the easy life you once had with me? You’ll never see it again.”

I cut the call and relaxed. No need for long Story

I was about to serve my husband dinner when I found something hidden under our bed.It was a small black nylon. I dragged...
08/09/2025

I was about to serve my husband dinner when I found something hidden under our bed.

It was a small black nylon. I dragged it out, thinking it was rubbish. But when I opened it, my hands started shaking.

Inside was a calabash with palm oil, feathers, and a piece of white cloth with my name boldly written on it.

I screamed. My husband rushed inside, looking shocked. He shouted, “Who asked you to touch that?”

My body went cold. “What is this doing under our bed?” I asked with tears in my eyes.

He kept quiet, his face dark. Then he whispered, “It’s for protection. You won’t understand.”

I shouted louder, “Protection? With my name written on cloth? Under our bed?”

He tried to grab the calabash from me, but I held it tight. Neighbors rushed in after hearing my cry.

I showed them what I found. Everyone gasped. One old woman shook her head and said, “This is not protection. This is control. He wants to cage your destiny.”

I felt like fainting. My own husband? The man I cook for, the man I sleep beside every night?

He fell on his knees, begging, “Please don’t throw it away. Everything I worked for depends on it.”

But the neighbors shouted, “No! This is evil.” One man carried the calabash and smashed it outside.

The moment it broke, my husband collapsed. He started shaking like someone having convulsion.

We prayed and prayed till he became still. When he opened his eyes, he looked weaker, like life had drained out of him.

That night, I sat in the dark, holding my chest. My marriage would never feel safe again.

I realized then that sometimes the person you share your bed with is the one silently chaining your soul.

I came back from work and met another woman cooking in my kitchen.The smell of stew filled the air, but my chest was on ...
08/09/2025

I came back from work and met another woman cooking in my kitchen.

The smell of stew filled the air, but my chest was on fire.

She turned to me and said, “Welcome, sister,” as if she owned the place.

I dropped my bag and shouted, “Who are you?”

Before she could answer, my husband walked in smiling.

“Ah, Amaka, meet Ngozi. She is my wife too.”

I felt the ground shift under my feet. My ears started ringing.

I looked at him, then at her, then back at him. “Your what?”

He nodded confidently. “Yes. My people arranged it. Accept it or leave.”

Ngozi smiled again, stirring the pot like nothing was wrong.

My hands shook. I wanted to drag her out of my house, but my little son ran in shouting, “Mummy!”

I swallowed my pain and walked away before I did something dangerous.

That night, my husband did not enter our room. He slept in the sitting room with her.

I cried quietly into my pillow, my tears soaking the bed.

The next morning, neighbors were already gossiping. My shame spread like wildfire.

Three weeks passed. Every day was torture. They acted like I was invisible.

Then one evening, police came to our gate. They asked for Ngozi.

They showed us papers. She was a wanted criminal who duped men of millions.

My husband collapsed on the floor as they dragged her away.

I picked up my son, wiped my tears, and told myself, “This is my sign. I am done.”

I opened my mother’s room door and saw my husband on her bed.At first I thought I was dreaming, so I rubbed my eyes and ...
08/09/2025

I opened my mother’s room door and saw my husband on her bed.

At first I thought I was dreaming, so I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

It was real. He was sitting half dressed, and my mother was beside him tying wrapper.

My throat went dry, and my whole body started shaking.

“Mummy… Chike… what is going on here?” I asked, my voice breaking.

My mother stood up quickly. “Nne, it’s not what you think,” she said, avoiding my eyes.

Chike tried to talk, but his lips only trembled.

I felt my knees weaken. I held the door frame so I wouldn’t fall.

All the trust, all the sacrifices, flashed in my mind like lightning.

The man I called husband. The woman who gave birth to me.

Tears rushed down my face. My heart screamed louder than my voice.

I ran out of the house, barefoot, neighbors staring at me as I cried on the street.

Later that night, Chike came to beg. He said it was a mistake, that he was tempted.

My mother too came to my room, kneeling, begging me to forgive.

But how do you forgive the two people who should protect you most?

For weeks I lived in silence, carrying pain too heavy for my chest.

Then one morning, Chike packed his things and left. He didn’t even look back.

Two months later, news broke that he had been arrested for defiling a teenager in another town.

That day I realized something. Sometimes betrayal is God’s way of pulling people out of your life before they destroy you completely.

I came back from work one evening and found my younger sister sitting in the living room with my husband. They both jump...
08/09/2025

I came back from work one evening and found my younger sister sitting in the living room with my husband. They both jumped up when they saw me. Something about their faces didn’t sit right with me.

I asked, “What’s going on?” My husband smiled and said, “Nothing, we were just talking.” My sister avoided my eyes. My chest tightened.

That night, I asked her, “What were you and my husband talking about?” She said, “Sister, it’s nothing serious. He was only advising me.” But her shaky voice betrayed her.

Two weeks later, I noticed my husband had changed. He was always on his phone, smiling. He started dressing better, spraying perfumes he hadn’t used in years.

I checked his phone one night when he slept. What I saw broke me. Messages between him and my own sister. “I miss you.” “When will she travel again?” “You looked so beautiful today.”

Tears fell on my hands as I read. My sister, the girl I raised after our parents died, was in love with my husband.

The next morning, I confronted her. She broke down crying. She said, “Sister, I didn’t plan it. He forced me at first, but now I can’t stop.” My ears rang.

I slapped her. My heart was on fire. My husband came out shouting, “Why are you beating her? Are you mad?” That was the moment I knew he had chosen her over me.

I left the house that day and went to a friend’s place. I cried until my body was weak. My own blood betrayed me.

Days later, my aunt called me. She said my sister had moved into my house fully. My husband introduced her to neighbors as his second wife.

I wanted to run mad. But instead of rushing back, I stayed quiet. I gathered every proof, the chats, the calls, even the neighbors’ testimonies.

I filed for divorce silently. I didn’t warn him. The day court papers arrived at the house, he called me, shouting, “So you want to disgrace me?” I laughed through my tears. He was already a disgrace.

My family turned against my sister. She was chased from my aunt’s house when she visited. My mother couldn’t even look at her face.

The so-called marriage collapsed in less than five months. My husband stopped caring for her, and she ran back crying, begging me for forgiveness.

I told her, “You broke me in a way I can never explain. Blood is thicker than water, but betrayal is sharper than a knife.”

As for my husband, he lost everything. His business crumbled. The same neighbors who once greeted him with respect now call him shameless.

I moved on with my life. I got a better job, rented a new apartment, and focused on my children.

My peace came when I realized I was better off without both of them. Betrayal hurts, but survival is sweeter.

That morning in church, the pastor pointed at me and said, “Young man, your life is fire. If you don’t control it, it wi...
08/09/2025

That morning in church, the pastor pointed at me and said, “Young man, your life is fire. If you don’t control it, it will consume you.”

I didn’t understand. People clapped and shouted amen, but I was confused.

After service, I went home. My father was waiting with anger written all over his face.

He shouted, “Where were you last night? They said they saw you at the club again!”

I kept quiet. My father raised his hand, but my mother stopped him. She begged him to leave me.

Truth was, I was lost. I drank, I gambled, I fought. I felt like my life had no meaning.

One night, I followed friends to an uncompleted building to smoke. Police raided the place. Everyone ran. I was caught.

They beat me, tied my hands, and threw me into a cell. That night, I cried like a child.

I remembered the pastor’s words. “Your life is fire.”

My mother came the next morning with swollen eyes. She begged until they released me.

When we got home, she knelt before me and said, “Don’t kill me before my time.”

Her tears quenched something in me. For the first time, I felt ashamed.

I decided to change. It was not easy. My friends mocked me. Some called me weak.

But slowly, I found peace. I started learning tailoring. I began to make small money.

One day, I made a dress for my mother. She wore it to church proudly.

The pastor saw me and smiled. He said, “Now the fire in you is no longer destroying. It is shining.”

That day, I knew I had turned my fire into light.

I was sweeping the yard when a strange car stopped in front of our house. Three men stepped out, all in suits, carrying ...
08/09/2025

I was sweeping the yard when a strange car stopped in front of our house. Three men stepped out, all in suits, carrying files.

They asked for me by name, and my hands began to shake.

One of them opened a file and showed me a birth certificate. It had my full name, but the father’s name was not the man who raised me.

I told them it was a mistake, but they said they had DNA proof. The man I had always called father was not my biological father.

I laughed in disbelief, but one of the men brought out a photo of a wealthy businessman in Johannesburg. He said that man was my real father.

My chest tightened. I asked why they were telling me now, after all these years.

They explained that the businessman had died last week, and his family was fighting over his estate.

According to their documents, I was the first son, and by law I had a right to a share.

I froze. My mother had never told me this secret. She had kept it from me my whole life.

That evening I confronted her. She broke down and admitted it. She had met the businessman before she married my father.

I felt betrayed, but I also felt confused. The man who raised me loved me like his own. Wasn’t that what mattered?

The next morning, lawyers came to take me to court. The man’s other children were already challenging my claim.

When I entered the courtroom, I saw them glaring at me. They called me an impostor and a fraud.

The judge ordered another DNA test. The results proved what the first lawyers had said. I was blood.

The businessman had left a huge fortune, but also a family torn apart by greed.

I thought inheriting wealth would make me happy, but instead it brought endless fights, death threats, and fear.

My step-siblings tried to bribe me to walk away. When I refused, they threatened me openly.

At night I could not sleep. I worried about my safety, my mother’s safety, even my younger siblings.

One morning, I made a decision. I told the court I was rejecting the inheritance.

People called me foolish, but peace of mind was worth more than millions.

I went back home to my father, the man who raised me. I hugged him tightly and told him he was the only father I knew.

And for the first time since the strangers arrived, I felt truly free.

I woke up one morning to find my brother’s shoes at the doorstep, but my brother had been buried six months ago.I stood ...
08/09/2025

I woke up one morning to find my brother’s shoes at the doorstep, but my brother had been buried six months ago.

I stood there, frozen. I touched the shoes, they were warm, like someone had worn them through the night. I ran to my mother’s room. “Mama, Sipho’s shoes are outside.” She looked at me like I was mad and said, “Don’t start this early in the morning.”

She followed me to the door. When she saw the shoes, her knees buckled. She sat on the floor, holding her chest. “These were buried with him,” she whispered. My heart pounded. How could they be here?

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Around 2am, I heard footsteps outside my window. Slow. Heavy. I didn’t want to look, but I found myself peeping through the curtain. I swear I saw Sipho’s shadow standing by the gate.

I ran to my mother’s room again. “Mama, he’s outside.” She shook her head violently. “Don’t say that. Don’t bring his spirit here. Go and pray.”

Days passed. The shoes stayed at the door. No one touched them. Visitors came and asked questions. My mother lied and said they were old shoes she kept there. But each night, I heard the footsteps.

One night, I gathered courage. I opened the door and shouted, “Sipho! If it’s you, talk to me.” The night went silent. Then, a voice said softly, “You promised me.”

My body went cold. I remembered the promise. Before he died in that accident, he had begged me, “Don’t let them take my savings. Use it for my daughter.” I had nodded, but after his burial, my uncles forced me to hand over the money. They said tradition required it.

I broke down in tears. “I’m sorry, Sipho. They took everything.” The voice said, “Then fight for her. Don’t let my daughter suffer.” The shadow disappeared.

The next morning, I told Mama everything. She sighed. “I knew he wouldn’t rest. Those men cheated him even in death.”

I went to my uncles. I demanded the money back. They laughed. “Who are you to question us? You’re a child.” I told them Sipho was haunting me. Their faces changed immediately.

That night, all of them came to our house, shaking. One of them confessed, “We have been seeing him too. He won’t leave us alone.” They returned every cent they took.

I opened an account in Sipho’s daughter’s name. When I deposited the money, I felt a weight lift off my chest.

That night, I waited for the footsteps. Nothing. For the first time in months, I slept peacefully.

In the morning, the shoes were gone from the doorstep. I never saw them again.

My mother smiled and said, “Now he can rest.”

Sipho never came back, but every time I see his daughter smile, I know he is watching.

I learned that promises don’t die with the dead. If you break them, the dead will remind you.

That is how my brother taught me that some debts must be paid, even from the grave.

I was at work when I got a call that my son had been expelled from school. The reason? They said he stole a teacher’s ph...
08/09/2025

I was at work when I got a call that my son had been expelled from school. The reason? They said he stole a teacher’s phone.

I left everything and rushed to the school. When I arrived, they had already gathered him outside with other students watching. My son sat on the floor, crying.

The headmaster looked at me and said, “This is not the first time. We’ve been watching him. He is a thief.” I felt my legs weaken. “But my child has never stolen anything,” I said.

The teacher whose phone was missing pointed at him. “He was the last one in my class. He even asked me for airtime yesterday.” My son shook his head violently. “I didn’t take it. I swear.”

I begged them to check his bag in my presence. They did. The phone was inside. My son screamed, “That’s not mine. I don’t know how it got there.” But nobody listened.

The shame burned me. Parents stood around whispering. Some students laughed. I held my son’s hand and walked away without saying a word.

At home, I sat him down. “Tell me the truth.” He cried, “Mama, I didn’t take it. Please believe me.” His eyes were red, but firm. I chose to believe him.

That night, I prayed. “God, if he is lying, expose him. If he is innocent, fight for him.” I couldn’t sleep.

Two days later, the teacher called me. He was stammering. “Madam, I don’t know how to say this. We found my phone inside my car. I must have forgotten it there.”

I froze. “So why was one found in my son’s bag?” He went quiet. Then he whispered, “I think someone planted it. Maybe a student. Maybe even a colleague.”

I wanted to scream. My son had been humiliated for nothing. I went straight to the school. This time, I didn’t cry. I demanded an apology in front of the whole assembly.

The headmaster tried to calm me. “Let’s not blow this out of proportion.” I shouted, “You ruined my son’s name. You will clear it the same way you destroyed it.”

They finally gathered the students. The teacher confessed what had happened. He admitted his phone was never stolen. He admitted my son was innocent.

My boy stood tall that day. The same children who laughed at him clapped for him. The shame left his face.

As we walked home, he said, “Mama, thank you for believing me.” That broke me. I realized how close I was to doubting him.

From that day, I promised myself something. I will always stand by my child, even if the world calls him guilty. Because sometimes, the world is wrong.

And when the truth finally comes out, the same people who laughed will bow their heads in shame.

That day taught me that protecting your child’s dignity is more important than protecting your own pride.

And I am proud I chose my son.

08/09/2025

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