My name is Kemi, and if anyone had told me that one year of my life could turn everything upside down, I would have laughed. I used to think life only changed slowly—one small step at a time. But mine flipped suddenly, like someone blowing out a lantern in the middle of the night.
It all began with my husband, Kunle.
Kunle is an aluminium engineer—a good one, too. Back then, he could shape roofing sheets, fix windows, install sliding doors; he had hands that built things. But work had become scarce. People were barely constructing anything in our area, and even when they did, they hired untrained boys who charged peanuts.
Every morning, Kunle still dressed up.
He would polish his shoes, pick up his toolbox, and say, “Kemi, I’ll check Egbeda today. Maybe someone needs installation.”
I always forced a smile.
“Alright, my dear. God will bless your hustle.”
But by evening, he would drag himself home, tired and empty-handed.
One night, after he returned unusually late, he sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped.
“Kemi,” he whispered, “my heart is tired.”
I sat beside him. “Kunle, don’t talk like that. Things will improve.”
He looked at me, eyes dim. “For how long? Every day, I walk around like a beggar hoping somebody will remember me. I’m a man, Kemi. I’m supposed to provide.”
I held his hand. “We’re in this together. My business is still doing fine. Let’s manage for now.”
He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe his own strength anymore.
At that time, my dried-fish business was thriving. I bought stock from the coastal traders who came from Ilaje and Badagry, and I supplied to market women in Dugbe, Oje, and even a few restaurants around Ring Road. That small business became our lifeline.
Sometimes, after calculating my daily profit, I would quietly slip some money into Kunle’s pocket.
He would notice later and say, “Kemi, I don’t like you doing this.”
And I always replied, “Kunle, we are one. If I have, you have.”
That was our life, and I didn’t mind it. As long as we had each other, I thought we would survive anything.
I didn’t know life was preparing a blow I never saw coming.
It happened on a hot Wednesday evening. I was frying plantain at home when my phone rang. It was one of the shop owners beside my stall.
“Kemi! Come quickly! Our shops… fire don catch!”
I didn’t even wear slippers. I grabbed my wrapper and ran barefoot towards the row of shops near the junction.
As I approached, I saw smoke rising like a black cloud into the sky. People were shouting, throwing water, running around. I could smell burning wood and heated metal. Someone had apparently dropped a lit cigarette on the ground, and the wind carried the flame under the first shop. Within minutes, everything was ablaze.
When I reached my stall, I froze.
My store—my fish, my sacks, my buckets, my scale—everything was burning.
“My God… my God…!” I screamed and ran forward, but two men dragged me back.
“Aunty, don’t go near! You wan burn?” one of them shouted.
I fell to my knees. Tears poured from my eyes as if someone opened a tap inside me.
“Kemi!” I heard Kunle’s voice behind me. He ran from the road, panting heavily. He grabbed me and pulled me close.
“It’s all gone, Kunle,” I cried. “Everything… everything is gone.”
He held me tighter. “I’m so sorry, Kemi. I’m sorry.”
People gathered around, murmuring words of pity. Someone brought me water, but I couldn’t drink. My legs were shaking. My chest felt like a stone was sitting on it.
Kunle kept rubbing my back. “Stand up, my wife. Let’s go home.”
I stood, but my legs buckled. He caught me before I fell.
That night, after we got home, I just sat on the chair in our small sitting room, staring at the wall. My mind was blank. Kunle prepared food, but I couldn’t eat. He tried to make me talk, but the words refused to come out.
Finally, he knelt in front of me.
“Kemi, look at me.”
I looked at him slowly.
“We will rise again. Do you hear me? It might not feel like it now, but this is not the end.”
I shook my head weakly. “Kunle… how will we survive? Your work is not coming. My business is gone. The kids’ fees are coming soon… everything is scattering.”
He rested his forehead on my knees. “God will help us. I will not let you suffer.”
But even he sounded unsure.
The following week was a blur. I kept waking up in the middle of the night imagining the fire. Sometimes I smelled smoke in my dreams and woke up sweating. Each morning, Kunle tried to be strong, but I could see the pressure weighing on him.
One morning, he said quietly, “Kemi… maybe I should travel to look for work elsewhere.”
“No,” I said, clutching his hand. “Don’t leave me alone. We’ll find a way.”
But deep down, I didn’t believe my own words.
Our savings were shrinking. Food became smaller. Life became tighter.
Then, out of nowhere, a new door opened—one I didn’t even expect.
To be continued...
The Betrayal I Walked Into
Episode 1
Follow Stories by Peace to read the next episode.
Like, Comment and Share ❤️
It all began with my husband, Kunle.
Kunle is an aluminium engineer—a good one, too. Back then, he could shape roofing sheets, fix windows, install sliding doors; he had hands that built things. But work had become scarce. People were barely constructing anything in our area, and even when they did, they hired untrained boys who charged peanuts.
Every morning, Kunle still dressed up.
He would polish his shoes, pick up his toolbox, and say, “Kemi, I’ll check Egbeda today. Maybe someone needs installation.”
I always forced a smile.
“Alright, my dear. God will bless your hustle.”
But by evening, he would drag himself home, tired and empty-handed.
One night, after he returned unusually late, he sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped.
“Kemi,” he whispered, “my heart is tired.”
I sat beside him. “Kunle, don’t talk like that. Things will improve.”
He looked at me, eyes dim. “For how long? Every day, I walk around like a beggar hoping somebody will remember me. I’m a man, Kemi. I’m supposed to provide.”
I held his hand. “We’re in this together. My business is still doing fine. Let’s manage for now.”
He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe his own strength anymore.
At that time, my dried-fish business was thriving. I bought stock from the coastal traders who came from Ilaje and Badagry, and I supplied to market women in Dugbe, Oje, and even a few restaurants around Ring Road. That small business became our lifeline.
Sometimes, after calculating my daily profit, I would quietly slip some money into Kunle’s pocket.
He would notice later and say, “Kemi, I don’t like you doing this.”
And I always replied, “Kunle, we are one. If I have, you have.”
That was our life, and I didn’t mind it. As long as we had each other, I thought we would survive anything.
I didn’t know life was preparing a blow I never saw coming.
It happened on a hot Wednesday evening. I was frying plantain at home when my phone rang. It was one of the shop owners beside my stall.
“Kemi! Come quickly! Our shops… fire don catch!”
I didn’t even wear slippers. I grabbed my wrapper and ran barefoot towards the row of shops near the junction.
As I approached, I saw smoke rising like a black cloud into the sky. People were shouting, throwing water, running around. I could smell burning wood and heated metal. Someone had apparently dropped a lit cigarette on the ground, and the wind carried the flame under the first shop. Within minutes, everything was ablaze.
When I reached my stall, I froze.
My store—my fish, my sacks, my buckets, my scale—everything was burning.
“My God… my God…!” I screamed and ran forward, but two men dragged me back.
“Aunty, don’t go near! You wan burn?” one of them shouted.
I fell to my knees. Tears poured from my eyes as if someone opened a tap inside me.
“Kemi!” I heard Kunle’s voice behind me. He ran from the road, panting heavily. He grabbed me and pulled me close.
“It’s all gone, Kunle,” I cried. “Everything… everything is gone.”
He held me tighter. “I’m so sorry, Kemi. I’m sorry.”
People gathered around, murmuring words of pity. Someone brought me water, but I couldn’t drink. My legs were shaking. My chest felt like a stone was sitting on it.
Kunle kept rubbing my back. “Stand up, my wife. Let’s go home.”
I stood, but my legs buckled. He caught me before I fell.
That night, after we got home, I just sat on the chair in our small sitting room, staring at the wall. My mind was blank. Kunle prepared food, but I couldn’t eat. He tried to make me talk, but the words refused to come out.
Finally, he knelt in front of me.
“Kemi, look at me.”
I looked at him slowly.
“We will rise again. Do you hear me? It might not feel like it now, but this is not the end.”
I shook my head weakly. “Kunle… how will we survive? Your work is not coming. My business is gone. The kids’ fees are coming soon… everything is scattering.”
He rested his forehead on my knees. “God will help us. I will not let you suffer.”
But even he sounded unsure.
The following week was a blur. I kept waking up in the middle of the night imagining the fire. Sometimes I smelled smoke in my dreams and woke up sweating. Each morning, Kunle tried to be strong, but I could see the pressure weighing on him.
One morning, he said quietly, “Kemi… maybe I should travel to look for work elsewhere.”
“No,” I said, clutching his hand. “Don’t leave me alone. We’ll find a way.”
But deep down, I didn’t believe my own words.
Our savings were shrinking. Food became smaller. Life became tighter.
Then, out of nowhere, a new door opened—one I didn’t even expect.
To be continued...
The Betrayal I Walked Into
Episode 1
Follow Stories by Peace to read the next episode.
Like, Comment and Share ❤️
