Chapter 1: Heartbreak Under the Scalpel

One night, sharp pain hook my belly like juju, and next thing, na my own wife—top surgeon for Lagos—carry scalpel stand over me.

Somewhere for Yaba General, generator dey hum for background, nurses dey gossip for corridor. As I lay there on the hard, chilly operating table, the bright theatre lights glare above me. I try steady my breathing. The air sharp with hospital smell—Dettol, spirit, and small whiff of jollof rice from nurse lunch bag. My heart dey beat like talking drum. See as my own woman, steady hand, dey ready to cut me open. She be doctor wey people dey travel from far to see, and I always admire her talent—even if her work dey snatch her from my side every time.

On top the table, this woman—always careful and professional—begin chat in French with her male assistant.

The way their voices dey play—her own soft, confident, his own low and playful—make me frown. French? For this Naija theatre? Sometimes, doctors dey switch language for medical matter, but this one, e get as e be. I just feel invisible, even as my life dey for their hand.

I hear ‘nuisette en dentelle’—lace nightdress. My ear stand. Wetin concern lace for surgery? The words enter my ear sharp sharp. My chest tight small. Even if person dey unconscious, this kain talk fit wake am. My mind dey process everything.

The others act like dem no hear, but the assistant voice come low, more suggestive. For Naija, if wahala dey happen, people fit just lock up, dey mind their own. That nurse for corner wey dey fix drip? She hear, but e no concern her. Na so e be here—person fit dey chop insult, act like say nothing dey happen.

I catch another one—‘Sans vêtements’—without clothes. My mind just blank. I no believe wetin I dey hear.

I dey try reason am—maybe na fever dey play with my ear. But no, I hear am well. No be film trick, na real life. Body no dey lie; if e pain you, e go show.

Dem dey think say I no sabi French, so dem dey flirt anyhow for my front, no shame. Dem dey shine teeth, use another man language run me street. I just dey curse for mind—see betrayal!

Who for believe say the same woman wey swear love pass her own life dey run things with her assistant since? My head dey hot, body dey cold. I remember when she dey hold my hand, swear say na only me dey her eye. Omo, story for tortoise mouth. I vex, but as I dey half awake, weak for table, I no fit do anything.

Cold just dey catch me everywhere. Dr. Morayo notice, try calm me down.

She bend over me, sweat for brow, but her eyes soft. She touch my hand gently, try cover me with thick wrapper. "No worry, don’t be scared, e go finish soon."

Her voice calm like morning breeze after rain. I try hold myself, but e no easy. Sometimes, even when you strong for mind, body go still betray you.

Na just minor operation, and na me form hard man ask for local anesthesia. I remember, "Abeg, give me local, make I dey conscious." If I know, I for choose sleep—sometimes, ignorance na blessing. All my stubbornness bite me for back.

I regret my choice. If na general anesthesia, I for no hear all this wahala. I sigh deep, chest heavy. Sometimes for this life, na ignorance dey save person.

The surgery end quick, tiredness carry me go. I just collapse, like NEPA don take light for my body. Sleep drag me like stubborn goat.

When I wake, Dr. Morayo don remove white coat, dey sit beside me, dey peel orange. As she see me wake, she look up, concern full her face.

Her fingers stained orange, she dey chew softly, acting like nothing spoil. The orange scent fill everywhere, fresh and sweet, like home for harmattan. For one moment, I nearly forget wetin I hear.

"You don wake! How you dey feel? Anywhere dey pain you?"

She dey act like nothing happen, voice full of care. She clean hand for wrapper, look me with those big brown eyes wey once dey make me lose balance. If no be say I get sense, her acting for fool me.

If I no hear am with my own ear, I for still dey inside darkness. My body dey shake small, but I lock my face. Some things, once you see am, your mind no fit go back again.

As I no answer, she come dey anxious. She adjust seat, look me up and down. "Wetin happen? You dey uncomfortable? E no suppose get problem—na just small operation."

She get confidence for her skill. Her posture sharp, like person wey don used to praise. She no dey shake for work, always proud of her hand.

I snap out of it, look away, try hold myself. I face window, watch as sun dey try enter room through dirty blinds. My mind just dey race. "No wahala. I dey okay."

I squeeze the words out, voice flat. No strength to fight.

Dr. Morayo breathe out in relief. "Thank God o. If not, I for begin suspect say my hand don dey rusty." She laugh small, try lighten the mood. If to say I fit laugh, maybe I for answer her.

That time, door just burst open, her assistant Dr. Femi waka enter.

The man open door with confidence, like say na him get the place. Cologne strong, make everywhere smell different. Na young guy, sharp beard, shoe dey shine like new coin.

"Dr. Morayo, I get some things wey I wan discuss with you. E fit dey convenient now?"

He talk like person wey familiar with the house. No respect, just bold anyhow.

Dr. Morayo eyes bright, look me with small apology. Her eyes flash—quick, nervous. I catch am. She mask am with small smile, like say nothing dey happen.

"I get something I need handle. I go check you later—try rest."

She touch my shoulder like say she dey pet me. I no talk. For mind, I dey count her steps.

As she dey go, Dr. Femi look me with one kain proud face—the kind I don see before, but I always think say e no mean anything. Now, I know say the guy don dey beef me since. He give me side-eye, hiss under breath, follow her go. That kain pride, na only person wey dey chop wetin no belong to am dey show am.

Even with pain from my wound, I turn, quietly follow dem. I drag myself up small, hold wall, move like thief. Chest dey pound, but I no gree. I must see am with my eye.

Dem enter supply room. Na one dark corner for hospital, where dem dey keep medicine and old equipment. Corridor quiet, only my slippers dey make noise for tile.

After small time, I hear heavy breathing—man and woman. My hand start shake. My mind dey race. For Naija, person go say, "This life, e no balance." Na true.

Dr. Morayo voice, out of breath: "Stop now! Why you dey rush like this? What if person catch us?"

I feel like ghost, hearing my own wife dey beg another man for hush. Her voice no get that usual doctor confidence—now e weak, like leaf for Harmattan breeze—light, forgotten.

The guy answer, voice rough and urgent: "Wetin you dey fear? We don do am so many times, nobody don catch us."

He dey boast, voice deep. E pain me pass. So na regular thing be this. My heart dey cut like pepper enter wound. I wan shout, but voice no gree come out.

"But I dey fear my husband go find out. He still dey hospital!"

Her voice small, almost like person dey cry. But wetin be tears when you don betray your own?

"And so? Wetin he go do? E go chop us? Abeg, I no fit wait again."

For Naija, no be only fight dey pain person, na the disrespect join. The guy talk am like say I be mumu, nothing fit happen.

As I dey hear their voice, my body just dey shake. My head dey spin, like fever dey hold me. I feel small tears, but I wipe am. Man no suppose cry for this kind thing.

After small time, I bring out my phone, open the door small, and record everything. I hide for door back, camera dey on. If to say I talk, dem for deny. Evidence na the koko.

Before dem finish, I sneak back to my ward, act like nothing happen. I waka quick, heart dey hammer. I lie down, pretend say I dey sleep. Na so I learn—sometimes, silence loud pass noise.

Dr. Morayo come later, face still dey shine with satisfaction. Her cheeks red, she dey whistle small. I watch her closely. Happiness dey radiate for body. E pain me.

"Honey, you fit dey hungry. I bring food for you—I cook am myself."

She open lunchbox: bright red spicy diced chicken. Just now, na the same lunchbox Dr. Femi dey carry. She dey use leftover from her lover give me—she think say I blind?

Aroma strong, pepper dey shout for air. I recognize the lunchbox—one I buy her for her last birthday. See finish. The smell drag memory come—those old times she cook for me, serve am with smile. Now, na another man dey chop am.

"Abeg chop, no waste my effort."

Her smile wide, like say she dey try impress me. For mind, na insult. Food wey you use serve another man, you bring give your husband? E no pure at all.

As I no touch am, she come dey push me, still no look the food well. She dey shake plate for my front, like say na me dey do stubborn. She no even look if I wan chop or not.

"Wetin happen? Na you I cook am for."

As doctor, she suppose know say after operation, food suppose dey light—I no suppose chop pepper at all. For Naija, even ordinary nurse know say pepper after operation na wahala. I dey wonder if na forget she forget or she no just care.

Disgust rise for my body. I turn face, ignore her. I face wall, close eyes. Bile dey my throat. Betrayal dey bitter.

Dr. Morayo still no understand, thinking say I just dey do gra-gra. She dey wave hand for air, voice dey rise. She no understand why I no dey appreciate her effort.

"Why your face long again? If you wan chop, chop. If you no wan, leave am! I no go beg you."

She drop spoon with vex, begin scold me. Her face squeeze, she cross leg, dey tap finger for chair. E be like say she dey use anger cover her own guilt.

The patient for next bed no fit hold am again, he talk. "Dr. Morayo, person wey just do operation no suppose chop pepper—you suppose sabi that one."

He look her one kain. The man na old papa, him voice deep, no fear. For ward, if person dey mess up, people dey talk true. Na Naija hospital life be that.

Na that time Dr. Morayo notice say the food get pepper. Shame nearly swallow her. Her face turn red, she begin stammer. For her mind, she dey wonder how she take miss am. Everybody for ward just dey look her. "Sorry, sorry, I no know say e get pepper. Wait, make I go buy another thing for you."

She rush out, voice small. That pride wey she dey carry before, don die. For Naija, shame dey burn person like fire when you dey caught.

I just dey look her with cold eyes. She claim say na she cook am—how she no go know wetin she cook?

I shake head. Lie dey smell, no matter how you package am. I just dey watch her, no words.

She rush pack lunchbox, bring one bowl of plain pap. The pap warm, steam dey rise. She hand am over, voice soft, like person wey don learn lesson. "Truth be say, you suppose dey chop only liquid food now, so just manage this one."

She serve me gently, try look my eye. I collect am, no talk.

After that, her attitude change. She dey by my side day and night until dem discharge me. She begin do over-sabi wife, dey check drip, adjust pillow. Sometimes, she sleep for chair beside my bed, dey hold my hand. People for hospital begin praise her, call her good wife. For my mind, e dey make me sick.

But so what? The betrayal na fact. I don ready for divorce. No amount of caring fit wash away wetin I see and hear. My mind dey made up.

As I reach house, I go meet lawyer. I carry file, enter that dusty chambers for old GRA. The lawyer—one old Igbo man with fat glasses—listen to my story, just dey shake head. Rain dey threaten outside, thunder rumble like angry landlord. He sip tea, adjust him glasses, say, "Oga, for this matter, truth go stand. We go handle am."

I no fit wait again. To even see her dey make my body turn. As I dey house dey wait her return, every footstep I hear, my blood dey boil. The air for our parlor heavy, like say rain wan fall.

She no even notice anything. Every day, she still dey flirt with her assistant, sometimes she no dey come house at all. Before, if she dey come late, she go call me, give reason. Now, she just dey waka anyhow, come home late, sometimes no come at all. E dey obvious.

Doctors dey do night shift, true. Before, she dey always tell me her schedule, but now, na lie she dey lie just to go meet the guy. For hospital, shift dey rotate. But she dey use am as excuse to waka go dey enjoy herself. I sabi the hospital schedule pass her—she no know say I dey check am online.

I took long leave, begin follow her, dey gather evidence—see them dey laugh and play dey pain me. I go rent small car, dey tail them. Sometimes, I sit for cafeteria dey watch as dem dey gist, dey touch body. The thing dey cut me, but I gats get all the evidence.

See as Dr. Morayo dey happy, I just dey wonder. Her laughter loud, she dey shine teeth, touch Dr. Femi shoulder, play like secondary school love. I dey watch, dey remember say na me she once dey happy with.

The last time she smile for me like that, I no even remember when. I search my mind—maybe for our honeymoon? Or the time I buy her car? Since then, na so so frown face she dey give me.

After we marry, her work wahala too much. Anytime she come house, na quarrel she dey find. Even when I no do anything, na me go still dey beg. I remember nights wey I go cook, clean, she go just hiss, enter room, lock door. I go dey beg for small affection.

But she no dey happy, always dey vex. If I think well, na that time Dr. Femi show. The guy start work for their hospital, sharp sharp, na my wife him dey close to. People talk am, I no hear.

So, na because she get new person. No wonder she no fit stand me again. E pain me, but at least I understand now. No be say I do her bad, na new love dey sweet her.

That night, as I reach house, I ready to talk. But she just talk first,

She enter, drop bag, her voice high. No hello, just straight to matter. "Next week our hospital get end-of-year party, and family members fit come. Abeg, follow me go."

She no even wait make I talk, just dey invite me, like say all dey normal. As I look, I see one red mark for her neck. We never touch for long—e no fit be from me.

The mark fresh, like person wey dem just kiss, small bruise. For Naija, if man see that kind thing, e no go ask—e just hold am for chest.

She no even bother to hide am again? The boldness shock me. No shame, no fear. Na when person don get mind, e go dey act like nothing dey happen.

Like person wey dey possessed, I just pack the divorce paper wey I wan give her, bend my head to hide the pain, and gree. My hand dey shake as I pack paper. I just gree, voice low, eyes on ground. Make I no disgrace myself.

Why she go dey enjoy cheating and I go dey suffer? This life sef, some people dey chop life, others dey see shege. I tell myself, "You go get your own back."

I want make she feel pain too. Wetin person sow, na him e go reap—one day, she go pay for am. I swear for my mind—no peace for the wicked. As Yoruba go talk, "Ti aba fi owo otun ba ni lara, afi ti osi fa ko."

Dr. Morayo no even notice my mood. She just carry her clothes go bath. She dey sing for bathroom, dey arrange towel, like say na festival. No care for my feelings.

Her phone dey table. I pick am, check. All the chat don clean—nothing remain. I open her WhatsApp, Telegram—everything empty. The woman dey cover her track well. But God pass them.

She hide am well. If no be say I hear wetin dem talk during my operation, and if I no sabi French, maybe I for still dey inside darkness. I thank my mama for sending me Alliance Française that time. See as God dey work sometimes. Na my own eye open everything.