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Divorced for a Son, Betrayed by Fate / Chapter 8: Cry for Tomorrow
Divorced for a Son, Betrayed by Fate

Divorced for a Son, Betrayed by Fate

Author: Todd Robertson


Chapter 8: Cry for Tomorrow

The day Tanira born, I dey her side throughout.

Hospital cold like freezer, but my armpit dey sweat. Generator dey hum, nurse dey waka up and down. I dey pace, dey pray under my breath. My hand cold, sweat dey my palm.

Childbirth no be beans. For thirteen hours, Tanira dey suffer.

She dey squeeze my hand, dey shout sometimes. Doctor dey encourage am, nurse dey fan her. I dey feel pain for my own body.

As I see her dey pain, my mind dey cut.

I dey beg God for forgiveness. I dey promise say I go change, I go treat her well.

I swear for myself—

I close my eye, raise hand. 'God, if you help me today, I go do well for this woman.'

From today, I go treat her well.

I dey vow inside my heart. I dey reason all the wahala I cause her. I dey see her strength.

The pain she pass for labour even pass all the suffering Morayo endure for me.

For my mind, I dey compare—no matter the past, this kind pain dey different. I dey respect her.

Evening reach, Tanira finally born.

Sun don set, nurse come out, call me. I rush enter. My leg dey shake. I see pikin—red, dey cry. I dey smile, dey cry join.

As dem talk, na boy.

Doctor talk am, nurse confirm. My papa dey dance for waiting room, my mama dey shout hallelujah.

No wahala, no birthmark—pikin dey kampe.

Nurse show me, I dey count finger, toe. Everything perfect. I dey thank God.

By 10pm, after I arrange everything, I rush post for WhatsApp status.

I snap picture, write big caption, add emoji. I dey proud.

[Seven pounds eight ounces, mother and pikin dey okay.]

Na my proudest post ever. Friends, family, old school mates dey rush comment.

Not long, likes and comments full everywhere.

My phone dey hot. Calls dey enter back to back. Na real celebration.

But among the plenty congratulations, one comment just spoil my mood.

As I dey scroll, na see Morayo name pop up. I choke.

Na from Morayo.

Her name still dey my phone as 'My Queen'. My hand dey shake.

[Congrats, you don become happy papa.]

The message short, but the sting dey long. My mind dey run. I dey feel cold for chest.

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