Chizara.

" I want you to meet Chizara," my father said to me one Saturday morning. "She has been begging to meet you. I am sure you will like her," he said. I got dressed, and we went to have lunch. He was wrong. I didn't like Chizara. I was expecting someone his age or at most someone 10 years younger. But my father introduced me to a 25-year-old, someone half his age.

She was tall, dark, and beautiful. Her body was near perfect.

Despite the dislike, it was hard not to admit to her beauty, and I knew I was a little envious of her.

As time went by, I couldn't just accept her, even after the wedding and her moving in, Chizara felt like a stranger to me. I saw her making an effort and being friendly. Always taking my side when my father and I disagreed, and even when she was the offended party, she tried to be on my side or equally distributed the blame. I felt there was a hidden side to her that.

The strike came, and I was forced to spend my time living with her under the same roof. I tried to be oblivious to her presence, but Chizara's kindness melted my heart, her smile, her beauty, and her gentle way of speaking. I understood why my father loved her so much, and I grew to love her.

I shared my personal experiences, and she did too. We advised ourselves or thought of a solution to our problems. We discussed everyone but my father. We had become good friends, and I soon began to defend her from the prying eye of my father’s relatives.

When I returned to school, Chizara called me and told me she was pregnant. We both cried on the phone together. That was her third year of marriage and her first pregnancy. I knew how happy she and my father would be, and I was already delighted. She said I was the first to know, it made me feel honored, and I immediately felt a responsibility to the child; I had a deep love for my younger sibling, who was still cooking in the womb.

A month later, I went home to visit her, and once I saw her. I knew. Her look, her shaky smile, and her eyes were very familiar, and it occurred to me that I had seen this look a lot but had never really understood the meaning. I stepped into the house, and she closed the door.

Chizara started speaking about how she was surprised to see me. I walked toward her and looked at her intensely. I felt the tears sting my eyes, and I immediately wrapped my arms around her. She tried to free herself, but I held her tighter and closer. She stopped moving and hugged me back, keeping me tight. I wondered if she knew I knew, but I was certain she hugged me because she needed a hug.

I couldn't understand how the kindest and most understanding father, a father who was always doting and attentive to me, a father I loved so much and had been so affectionate, could be a monstrous husband.

I was too young to remember how he treated my mother. The few times I remembered, I pushed it to the back of my mind. I wanted the truth I knew to be false. I felt he had changed since he was so kind to me afterward, and took care of my mother's siblings after her death.

I didn't know my mother so well, her face was vague in my memory. But I knew Chizara; she was the sweetest person I had ever met. I was sure no disagreement with Chizara warranted such treatment.

"Did he touch you?" I asked her. She pretended not to hear. I shook her, and she nodded to affirm.

"I am sorry," I said, being the most sincere sorry I ever said

“Sorry for what, you didn't touch me," she said laughing lightly.

While she narrated her ordeal, she was careful not to entirely blame my father but made sure she got a piece of the blame. When she was done, I held her hands and looked into her eyes," leave." I said

"He will change. He promised." I felt defeated. I didn't know how to persuade her. I didn’t know what to say to convince her.

"It was just a slap," she said" I can't leave because of a slap. My younger ones are still in school."

I recalled when my father slapped my mother a couple of times, and then came the punches, the kicks, and the belt. My mouth felt heavy.

I decided to leave the following day. When I was about to leave as we got to the door, I decided to deploy one last weapon.

"Think about your unborn child."

"My unborn child needs a father," she said. I chuckled. I felt sad for her; she needed my father for many things but needed her life and sanity more. I hoped she realized it early. Chizara was an adult, I believed she would make the best decision for herself.

"Don't worry," I said, opening the door. "Your child will be cared for, no matter the outcome," I said and left.

Two weeks later she lost the baby.