The city lights flickered like distant stars as dusk settled into darkness. But for Mercy, the world had become dim long before the sun disappeared behind the skyline. The four walls of the tiny apartment she shared with her children were no longer just walls—they were witnesses to pain, hunger, and unanswered prayers.
It had been weeks since David left for the village. At least, that was what Mercy thought.
She sat on the edge of the worn-out mattress in the living room, her hands clasped tightly together, whispering silent prayers. Her children were asleep, their small bodies curled up together under a thin blanket. The room was quiet, except for the sound of their breathing and the occasional growl of Daniel's empty stomach.
Daniel was now almost three years old. He had grown weaker, paler. Mercy could see the signs. The sleepless nights, the fevers, the constant tiredness—she had come to fear that something deeper than hunger was eating at her son. But there was no money for a hospital visit, no one to help, and no one to ask. Her heart bled for him.
David had promised to return. He had said the trip to the village was to resolve family matters. He had told Mercy to be strong, to take care of the children until he returned. But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. And still—no call. No letter. No money.
Mercy wept quietly in the night. Sometimes she screamed into her pillow just to stop herself from waking the children. The pain was unbearable, not just from hunger, but from the abandonment. From the betrayal.
What she didn't know was that David was no longer in the village.
He was back in the city.
Not far from her.
Just a few blocks away, David lived in a two-bedroom apartment with Sarah, his new wife—the woman his elder brother James had found for him in the village. The same woman he had married using the money from selling Mercy's car.
The apartment was new. Clean. Decorated with bright curtains and a fresh set of furniture that Mercy had never even dreamed of owning. Sarah was young, vibrant, and full of life. She cooked his meals, massaged his feet when he came back from work, and laughed at his jokes. She was everything David now claimed to want in a wife—obedient, soft-spoken, and untouched by poverty.
He acted as though his past with Mercy never existed.
Mercy, meanwhile, was on her knees—begging God to bring her husband home.
Every morning, Mercy would prepare what little food she could find, often watering down the soup so it would go around. Sometimes, they ate only boiled garri. Other days, nothing at all. Faith, the eldest daughter, had started going to school without lunch. Anita often pretended to be full, just so Daniel could eat more. Destiny and John, the youngest boys, had stopped asking when their father was coming back. They had learned not to hope.
Mercy never stopped praying.
Every single night, she knelt at the corner of her room, holding her Bible tightly, her voice trembling with each plea.
"God, please… wherever David is, touch his heart. Let him remember his children. Let him remember me. We are suffering, Lord. The hunger is becoming too much. My son Daniel is sick, and I have no money to take him to the hospital. Please… bring David back to us. Even if it's just for a while…"
Tears flowed down her cheeks like rain on a windowpane.
She still didn't know the truth.
She didn't know that David had chosen another family. That he had started afresh without her. That the man she had stood by, the man she had loved despite all his flaws, had replaced her as if she meant nothing.
One day, Faith came back from school with a story.
"Mummy," she said quietly, "I think I saw Daddy today…"
Mercy's heart skipped.
"You saw him? Where? Are you sure?"
Faith hesitated. "I'm not sure. I was walking back from school. A man passed by in a taxi, and I think he looked like Daddy. But there was a woman beside him. A fine woman. And they were both smiling."
Mercy's heart twisted like a knife inside her chest.
She didn't know whether to believe it.
Or whether it would break her more if it were true.
That night, she didn't pray.
She just cried.