HE ABANDONED HIS WIFE IN LABOUR TO GO CLUBBING, FEW MINUTES LATER… 

Inside a small two-bedroom apartment in Lekki, Simi was bent over. Her two hands pressed tightly against her stomach. “Ah, Chike!” she screamed. Her voice echoed through the house. Her wrapper was soaked with sweat. Strands of her hair stuck to her face. Her breathing was fast, uneven, desperate. Another pain came, stronger than the last.

 It gripped her waist like something was tearing her apart from the inside. “Chike, please!” she cried again, almost falling. In the sitting room, Chike stood in front of the mirror, calm, unbothered. He adjusted his shirt, smoothing it down like someone preparing for a special night. On the table beside him were his car keys, a gold chain, and a bottle of expensive perfume.

 He picked up the perfume and sprayed it generously on his neck and clothes. “Simi, I beg now,” he said, slightly raising his voice. “Don’t start this your drama tonight.” Another scream came from the room, louder this time. “Chike!” he hissed. “Why you dey shout like this? Neighbors go think say I dey beat you.” Inside the bedroom, Simi held onto the edge of the bed.

 Her legs were shaking badly. “I am not doing drama,” she cried, her voice breaking. “I am in labor. The baby is coming!” She felt something warm trickle down her leg. Her eyes widened. “Chike, my water! My water has broken!” Her heart started beating fast. Fear entered her chest. This was real. This was happening. Chike walked into the room slowly, irritation written all over his face.

 He looked at her like she was disturbing his peace. “Are you sure?” he asked carelessly. Simi stared at him. Tears filled her eyes. “Chike, I have been in pain since afternoon. I told you. You said it’s false alarm.” Another contraction hit her. She screamed so loudly that it shook the room. “Ah, God!” She bent forward, gripping her stomach.

 “Please, take me to the hospital!” Chike rolled his eyes and checked his wristwatch. “See the time,” he muttered. He looked at his phone. Several missed calls. Group chat messages flooding in. “Where you dey? Tonight go mad, oh. DJ don arrive.” He exhaled loudly, then looked at Simi again. “Okay, okay, let’s go,” he said reluctantly.

 “But you have to make it fast. I don’t want to miss tonight.” Simi could not even respond. Her body was already betraying her. Outside, the first drop of rain fell, then another. Within minutes, the rain started pouring heavily. Chike half carried, half dragged Simi into the car. She screamed as she sat down. “Ah, please drive fast!” He slammed the door and rushed to the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life. The journey began. Rain beat heavily against the windshield. The wipers moved quickly, but it was still hard to see clearly. The roads were wet, slippery, dangerous. Inside the car, Simi was in another world. Pain, only pain. She gripped the seat tightly. Her nails dug into the leather.

 “Chike, please, faster!” she cried. Every bump in the road sent sharp pain through her body. “Ah! But Chike?” He tapped his steering wheel impatiently. His jaw was tight. “God, I beg. This Lagos traffic will not make me miss this thing, oh,” he muttered. A car slowed down in front of him. He hissed loudly. “Move now!” He honked aggressively.

 Simi turned slowly to look at him. Her eyes were filled with tears. Tears of pain, tears of shock, tears of realization. This man, this man she married, this man she prayed for, was more concerned about a party than her life. “Chike,” she said weakly. “Yes, what?” he replied, not even looking at her. “I’m scared.” For a brief second, silence, but he said nothing.

 They finally arrived at the hospital. The car was hardly stopped when Simi screamed again. “Help me!” Nurses rushed out immediately with a wheelchair. “Madam is in active labor,” one of them shouted. “Quick, bring her down.” They opened the car door. Simi cried out as they helped her into the wheelchair. Her body was shaking uncontrollably.

 As they began to wheel her inside, Simi stretched her hand toward Chike. Her fingers trembled. Her voice was soft now, weak, almost gone. “Please, don’t go.” Her eyes locked with his. “Stay with me, please.” Chike paused, just for a moment. He looked at her, really looked at her. For the first time that night, he saw fear, real fear.

Then his phone buzzed. He looked down. “Guy, where you dey? Party don’t scatter, oh.” Another message came. “Bottles full everywhere. Come now.” The sound of music from the voice notes filled his ears. Laughter, excitement, life. He looked back at Simi, then back at his phone, then back at Simi. “I will come back,” he said quickly, like someone trying to escape responsibility.

“I just need to check something.” Before she could say anything else, before she could hold him again, before she could beg, he turned and walked away. Simi watched him go. Her heart broke into pieces, not slowly, but instantly. Inside the labor room, everything became intense.

 The lights were bright, voices everywhere. “Push! Breathe! Madam, focus!” Simi screamed, not just because of the pain, but because of the emptiness. “Where is your husband?” a nurse asked gently while wiping her sweat. Simi swallowed hard. Tears rolled down the sides of her face. “He He He stepped out.” But deep down, she knew the truth. He did not step out.

 He walked away. Hours passed, long, painful, endless hours. The rain stopped. The night grew quiet. But inside that room, war was happening. Simi cried. She screamed. She prayed. “God, please help me. God, don’t let me die. God, please!” Her voice became weak. Her strength almost gone. But still, she fought. At exactly 5:52 a.m.

, a loud cry filled the room, sharp, clear, alive. A baby, a beautiful baby boy. The nurse smiled brightly. “Congratulations, Mommy. You are strong.” Simi’s chest rose and fell slowly. Tears rolled down her cheeks as they placed the baby on her chest. She looked at him, her son, her child, her victory. She touched his tiny face.

 Her lips trembled. A weak smile appeared, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Because in that moment, there was an empty space beside her, a space that should have been filled. The father of her child, the man who promised to stand by her, the man who put her in this condition, was not there.

 Somewhere in Lagos, under bright flashing lights, with loud music shaking the walls, with bottles popping and people laughing, Chike was dancing. And Simi held her child alone. That night, a woman became a mother, but she also learned something painful. Sometimes, you can be married and still be completely alone. At exactly 5:03 a.m., Chike’s phone began to ring.

 The sound was loud, persistent, annoying. But Chike didn’t even notice at first. He was deep inside the club. Music was blasting. Lights were flashing red, blue, purple. People were shouting, laughing, dancing, bodies moving, glasses clinking, life everywhere. Chike stood in the middle of it all. Sweat covered his face.

 His shirt was slightly open, a drink in his hand, another one already waiting on the table. “Chike, baba, enjoy!” one of his friends shouted. “Tonight is your night,” another added, laughing. Chike grinned widely. “Of course now, life no be only work,” he shouted back. They all cheered. His phone kept ringing inside his pocket, but the music swallowed the sound.

 Finally, after a while, he felt the vibration. He frowned slightly and brought out his phone. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, but something made him pick. “Hello,” he said, his voice heavy, unsteady. On the other side, a calm voice spoke. “Sir, good morning. This is from the hospital. Your wife has delivered. It’s a baby boy.

” For a second, everything around him faded. The music, the laughter, the noise. “A boy?” he asked slowly. “Yes, sir. A healthy baby boy.” Chike blinked, then he nodded, even though the nurse could not see him. “Okay.” There was a short pause, then he added carelessly, “I’ll come later.” The nurse was confused. “Sir, but your wife” But the line had already gone dead.

 Chike slipped the phone back into his pocket, took another sip of his drink, and turned back to his friends. “Guy, wetin them talk?” one of them asked. Chike shrugged. “She don born.” “What? Oh my baba!” They all cheered. “Bottles! We must celebrate!” And just like that, the music became louder, the drinks became more, the laughter became deeper.

 But somewhere else, in a quiet hospital room, Simi lay weak on the bed, holding her baby close, her eyes fixed on the door. Every time footsteps passed, her heart jumped. “Is he here?” she would hope. But no, it was always someone else. Morning came, no Chike. Afternoon came, no Chike. Night came, still no Chike.

 The nurse came in and smiled gently. “Mommy, your husband never come?” Simi forced a weak smile. “He He will come.” But her voice did not carry belief. Because deep down, she already knew. The second day came, still nothing. No calls, no messages, no presence. Simi picked her phone several times, dialed his number.

 It rang and rang and rang. No answer. Tears filled her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. She looked down at her baby. “My son,” she whispered softly. “I am here, even if no one else was.” By the third day, she stopped expecting him. That afternoon, the door finally opened. Chike walked in casually, like someone who was entering his own room after a long day.

 No flowers, no gifts, no excitement. He didn’t even look at Simi first. His eyes went straight to the nurse. “How much be the bill?” he asked. Simi sat quietly on the bed, her baby in her arms. She watched him carefully, silently. The nurse handed him the bill. Chike looked at it and hissed loudly. “Ah ah, why is everything so expensive like this?” he complained.

 “Just to give birth.” Simi’s heart dropped. Those words cut deep. The nurse frowned slightly. “Sir, the delivery was” “I beg, just tell me the total,” he interrupted impatiently. He paid reluctantly, muttering under his breath, “This hospital sef.” Not once, not once did he come close to her. Not once did he say, “Well done.

” Not once did he say, “Thank you.” Not once did he say, “You tried.” Simi adjusted the baby in her arms, her body still aching, her heart even more. Finally, Chike turned to her. “So, we can go now?” he asked casually. She nodded slowly. No words, no strength, no expectations. Back home, reality began.

 The house felt different, cold, empty, unfamiliar. The baby cried loud, non-stop. Simi tried to stand. Pain shot through her body immediately. “Ah,” she winced. Her legs felt weak. Her waist felt like it was breaking, but there was no one to help her. She thought about her late mother. She carried the baby, rocked him gently, tried to breastfeed, but it was painful.

So painful. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the baby cried harder. “Please, please,” she whispered. “I am trying.” Night came, no sleep. Morning came, no rest. Another night, same thing. Her eyes became red. Her body grew weaker. Her mind became tired. Meanwhile, Chike continued his life like nothing had changed.

 One evening, the baby cried loudly again. Simi sat on the bed, her back aching badly, her eyes half closed from ex haustion. “Chike,” she called softly. No response. She tried again. “Chike, please.” From the sitting room, his voice came. “What is it?” “Please, can you carry him for a minute? I need to rest.” Silence.

 Then, “I just came back from work, Simi. I’m tired.” Simi’s lips trembled. “I’ve not slept in 2 days,” her voice cracked. “I’m very tired.” Chike didn’t even look up from his phone. “And whose job is that?” he snapped. “You’re the mother.” Those words landed like a slap. Simi froze. Her hands tightened around the baby. “But, he is your child, too,” she said softly.

 Chike laughed, a dry, careless laugh. “My job is to provide money,” he said boldly. “Yours is to take care of the home.” He finally looked at her. “Don’t mix it up.” Silence filled the room. Simi nodded slowly, not because she agreed, but because something inside her broke. That night, she didn’t cry loudly. She didn’t shout. She didn’t complain.

 She just lay there, quietly, tears slipping into her ears, because she had finally understood something painful. She was married, but she was alone. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. Nothing changed. Chike’s routine remained the same. Morning, work. Evening, friends. Night, club. Chike was a father, but only by name.

 It was a Friday night again, the kind of night Chike always looked forward to, the kind of night Simi feared. Three months had passed since the baby was born. Three long months of sleepless nights, three months of pain, three months of silent tears. Inside the house, the baby was crying again, loud, sharp, endless. Simi stood near the door, gently rocking him.

 Her eyes were tired, not just tired, heavy, like someone who carried too much for too long. Her wrapper was loosely tied. Her hair was not combed. Her face had lost its glow. But, inside the bedroom, Chike was getting ready. He stood in front of the mirror, clean shirt, nice jeans, shiny wristwatch.

 He sprayed perfume and smiled at himself. From the doorway, Simi watched him quietly. “Chike,” she called softly. He didn’t answer. He was busy adjusting his collar. “Chike, please,” she said again, her voice almost breaking. He turned slowly. “Yes, what is it?” She shifted the baby in her arms. The child was still crying. Her hands were shaking slightly.

 “Do you have to go out tonight?” she asked. Her voice was soft, careful, like someone afraid of the answer. Chike’s face hardened immediately. “Simi, don’t start again.” She swallowed. “I’m tired,” she said honestly. Her eyes filled with tears. “I haven’t slept. I’m weak.” She looked down at the baby.

 “Even if it’s just for tonight, please stay.” For a moment, silence. But, Chike’s face hardened. “And I’m stressed,” he snapped. “I work all week.” His voice rose. “I deserve to relax.” Simi flinched. The baby cried louder. “Chike, I’m not saying you shouldn’t relax,” she said quickly. “I just need help.” He shook his head.

 “No, you always do this.” He picked up his car keys from the table. The sound echoed in the quiet room. “Lock the door when I leave,” he said coldly. That was it. No goodbye, no care, no pause. He walked out. The door shut. The sound was loud, final. Simi stood there for a long time, still holding the crying baby, still staring at the door.

 Then, slowly, she sank to the floor. Tears rolled down her cheeks silently. “God,” she whispered, “what did I do wrong?” Outside, the first thunder struck. Then, the rain began, heavy, violent, relentless. Inside the club, it was a different world. Music blasted loudly. The walls shook. Lights flashed in different colors.

 People danced without care. Chike was in his element, laughing, shouting, moving freely. “Chike, you don’t come oh,” one of his friends shouted, pulling him into the crowd. “My guy, tonight go mad.” Another one handed him a drink. Chike took it immediately. “Of course,” he grinned. One drink became two, two became three.

His laughter grew louder. His movements became loose. His eyes became heavy. “Forget your mama while I guy,” one of his friends joked. Chike laughed loudly. “Guy, leave that one I beg.” And just like that, he forgot. He forgot the woman at home. He forgot the baby crying. He forgot the responsibility waiting for him.

All that mattered in that moment was enjoyment. Hours passed. The rain outside grew heavier. The roads became more dangerous. Water gathered in different places. Cars slowed down. But, inside the club, nothing changed. At around 2:30 a.m., Chike stumbled out. His steps were unsteady. His shirt was soaked with sweat.

 His eyes were half closed from exhaustion. He leaned against his car and brought out his phone. “My guy,” he said, laughing into the phone. “I want to go house now.” He ended the call and opened the car door. As he sat down, the rain hit the windshield hard, but he didn’t care. He started the engine. The car moved. The road was almost empty, just a few cars, dim street lights, and heavy rain.

Inside the car, Chike blinked slowly. His vision was not clear. He wiped his face, shook his head. “For course,” he muttered, but the alcohol was strong. His hands were not steady. His eyes struggled to stay open. Still, he pressed the accelerator. The car sped up. Rain covered the windshield. The wiper struggled to keep up.

 The road ahead was blurry, but he kept driving, fast, too fast. Inside his head, everything was spinning. Street lights looked like long lines. Headlights looked like stars. He blinked again. Then, suddenly, a bright light appeared ahead, very bright, blinding. He squinted. “What is that?” he muttered. Then, a loud horn. His eyes widened.

 A truck right in front of him, coming fast, too fast. “Jesus!” he shouted. He tried to turn the steering, but his hands were slow. His body didn’t respond quickly. The car skidded. Tires screeched loudly. Everything happened in seconds. Then, crash! A deafening sound exploded into the night. Metal crushed. Glass shattered.

The car twisted violently. Pieces flew into the air. The front of the car folded like paper. Chike’s body jerked forward. Pain shot through him instantly. He screamed, a loud, helpless scream. “Ah,” then, darkness. Rain continued to fall. People gathered slowly. Voices everywhere. “Accident! Call ambulance! God have mercy!” Somebody opened the crushed door.

 “Is he alive?” Chike lay there, motionless. Blood everywhere. His eyes half open. His body trapped. Sirens sounded in the distance. Then, slowly, everything became quiet. Very quiet. The noise faded. The voices disappeared. The pain dimmed. And then, silence. When Chike opened his eyes, everything around him was white, too white, too bright.

 The light pierced into his eyes, forcing him to blink slowly, once, then twice, as he struggled to focus. His head felt unbearably heavy, like something was pressing it down, keeping him from fully waking up. Then the smell hit him, strong, sharp, clinical. It was the unmistakable scent of a hospital, antiseptic, drugs, something clean, but deeply cold and lifeless.

 He tried to move his hand, but it felt weak and heavy, as if it no longer belonged to him. Then he heard it, a steady, rhythmic sound cutting through the silence. Beep. Beep. Beep. Machines, cold, unemotional, but alive. He frowned slightly, confusion clouding his face. “What? What happened?” he whispered, his voice dry and almost nonexistent.

 Summoning what little strength he had, he tried to sit up. The pain came instantly. Sharp, violent, unforgiving. “Ah!” he cried out as it tore through his body like fire. He fell back immediately, gasping for breath as his chest rose and fell rapidly. “Easy, easy,” a voice said urgently as doctors rushed to his side. “You’re okay. Just relax.

” Chike’s eyes moved wildly from one face to another, searching desperate for understanding. “Where am I?” he asked weakly. “You’re in the hospital. You had an accident,” one of the doctors replied calmly. The word hung heavily in the air, accident. Slowly, memories began to return in broken pieces. Rain pouring heavily, blinding lights, the deafening sound of a horn, the looming image of a truck.

His eyes widened. “My car,” he whispered. “It’s okay. You survived,” the doctor said gently. “Survived?” Chike swallowed hard, trying to process the word. Then instinctively, he tried to move his legs. Nothing. He frowned. He tried again, still nothing. A strange, creeping fear began to rise in his chest.

 Slowly, very slowly, he lifted his head and looked down. And in that moment, his world shattered. His legs were gone, not injured, not bandaged, gone. “No!” he screamed, tore through the ward, loud, raw, and completely broken. “No! No! No!” he shouted, struggling violently as he tried to sit up again, only for pain to explode through his body once more.

“My legs! Where are my legs?” he screamed uncontrollably. The doctors held him down, trying to restrain him. “Calm down. Please, calm down.” “My legs!” he cried, tears pouring freely from his eyes. “Bring them back. Do something.” But no one answered, because there was nothing to say. The truth was too heavy.

 Chike cried like a child, loud, uncontrollable, completely helpless. The same man who once spoke with pride and confidence now lay broken, reduced to tears and despair. Days passed, the shouting stopped, but acceptance never came. He would lie there for hours, staring at the empty space where his legs used to be, his eyes distant and hollow.

 Sometimes he would let out a dry, confused laugh and whisper to himself, “Maybe this is a dream. I will wake up.” But he never did. One afternoon, the door opened quietly. Simi walked in holding their baby. She looked different, not weak, not broken, just calm, too calm. Her face carried no expression because she had already cried all the tears she had.

When she first got the call, she had screamed. When she saw him lying in the hospital, she had cried again. But now, there was nothing left, only silence. She walked in slowly. Chike saw him and his lips trembled. “Simi,” he called, his voice breaking immediately. But she didn’t rush to him. She didn’t cry.

 She simply stood there, looking at him, really looking at what was left of the man she had married. The baby made a small sound in her arms. Chike’s eyes moved to the child. For the first time, he truly looked and something twisted painfully inside him, guilt. But the words refused to come out.

 Days later, Chike was discharged, but this was not the same man who had once walked confidently out of his house. This man was broken. He was wheeled back into the same house he had once left so proudly, but this time he entered sitting down, helpless, dependent, afraid. Everything felt different. The chair felt strange, the silence felt louder, even the air felt heavier. He looked around slowly.

 This was his home, but it no longer felt like it. That night, he couldn’t sleep. Every small movement reminded him of his reality. He could not stand. He could not walk. He could not move freely. He was trapped. Morning came and the baby cried as usual. Simi moved around the house quietly, focused on her duties.

Chike watched her. For the first time, he noticed everything, the way she carried the baby, the slight wince on her face when she bent down, the tiredness hidden in her eyes. These were things he had ignored before. “Simi,” he called softly. She didn’t turn immediately. “Yes,” she replied. “I I want to sit up.

” She stood still for a moment, the baby in her arms. Then she said quietly, “I am feeding the baby.” Chike frowned. “Simi, I need your help.” She turned slowly and their eyes met. For a moment, everything was silent. Then she spoke, calm, steady, cold. “I am a wife,” she said. “I am a mother.” She paused, her eyes fixed on his.

 “I am not a nurse.” The words landed hard. Chike blinked, confused. “What? What do you mean?” Her expression did not change. “You said it yourself,” she replied. “Your job is to provide. Mine is to take care of the home and the baby.” Her voice remained calm, no anger, no shouting, just truth. “You should employ a nurse.

” Silence filled the room, deep, heavy. Chike felt it. Those words sounded painfully familiar because they were his own, thrown back at him. Sharp, painful, real. And in that moment, it hit him, not the accident, not the pain, not even the loss of his legs, but the truth, the way he had treated her, the way he had ignored her, the way he had abandoned her when she needed him the most.

 His chest tightened and tears gathered in his eyes. But this time, they were not just tears of pain, they were tears of realization, too late, too heavy, too real. Chike looked at Simi, but she had already turned away, carrying the baby, walking slowly without him. And for the first time in his life, Chike understood something deeply.

 You don’t realize the value of what you have until you lose the ability to reach it. A nurse was employed. She came in every morning, quiet, professional, focused. Her name was Ngozi. She did her work well, very well. She would wake Chike up. “Good morning, sir,” she would say. She would clean him, carefully, gently. She would change his clothes, adjust his position, help him sit, help him lie down.

 She fed him, gave him his drugs, moved him from bed to wheelchair, from wheelchair back to bed. Everything, everything Simi was begged him to do for her, now another woman was doing it. But something was missing. It felt cold, routine, empty, because it was not love. From his wheelchair, Chike watched everything, every single day.

 He had nothing else to do, no work, no outings, no friends coming around like before, just him, his thoughts, and his regrets. He watched Simi. She moved around the house with quiet strength. She carried the baby, now 3 months older, stronger, full of life. Sometimes, she laughed, a soft, genuine laugh. Sometimes, she sang, low, sweet songs as she rocked the baby.

Sometimes, she smiled. And each time she did, Chike’s heart twisted because those smiles were no longer for him. That life did not include him and that life did not need him. He noticed something else, too. Simi no longer looked at him the same way. Before, there was love in her eyes, care, and hope.

 Now, there was nothing, just distance. She spoke to him only when necessary, with no extra words and no emotions, like someone talking to a stranger. One afternoon, Chike sat quietly in his wheelchair, watching her from the corner of the room. She was playing with the baby, making funny sounds, and the baby laughed loudly.

 For a moment, Chike smiled, but it faded because he realized something painful. That moment should have included him. He should have been there, holding his child, laughing with them, being part of their world. But now, he was only watching like an outsider. That evening, the house was quiet. The baby had just slept, and Ngozi had finished her duties and stepped outside briefly.

 It was just the two of them. Chike looked at Simi. She was arranging baby clothes, calm and focused. His heart started beating fast. “Simi,” he called softly. She didn’t respond immediately. “Simi, please,” he added. She paused, then turned slowly. She stood at the doorway, not moving closer. “What is it?” she asked.

 Her voice was neutral and flat. Chike swallowed hard as tears gathered in his eyes. “I I want to talk,” he said. She waited, silent. “I’m sorry.” The words came out slowly, heavy, and lit. Simi’s face didn’t change, not even a little. “I didn’t know,” he continued, his voice shaking. “I didn’t understand.” His chest tightened as tears rolled down his cheeks.

 “I thought providing money was enough. I thought I was doing my duty.” His voice broke completely. “I was wrong.” Simi stood still, listening, but not reacting. Chike broke down. “I should have stayed that night.” His voice cracked. “I should have been there when you were in pain.” He wiped his tears with shaky hands. “I should have helped you.

 I should have carried my child. I should have been a father.” His words came out like someone drowning. “I failed you.” Silence filled the room, deep, heavy. Simi looked at him quietly. Then she spoke, “Yes.” Just one word, calm and direct. “Yes, you should have.” Those words cut deeper than any insult. Chike lowered his head as tears dropped onto his hands.

 Simi’s voice softened slightly, but it was still firm. “I needed you.” She paused, “but you chose the club.” The truth sat between them, unavoidable, unchangeable. Chike cried harder. “And now,” he said, struggling to speak, “I need you.” His voice was weak and broken. Simi shook her head slowly.

 “And I have chosen my child.” Her words were calm, but final, with no anger and no bitterness, just decision. She turned and began to walk away. “Simi,” he called, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t turn. She didn’t look back. She just kept walking and disappeared into the room, leaving him there alone. That evening, the house was quiet.

 The baby had just slept, and Ngozi had finished her duties and stepped outside briefly. It was just the two of them. Chike looked at Simi. She was arranging baby clothes, calm and focused. His heart started beating fast. Then, suddenly, he broke. Not small tears and not quiet crying. He cried like a child, loud, deep, and painful. The kind of cry that comes from regret, not because of his legs or because of the accident, but because of what he lost before the accident even happened.

He hit his chest. “Why? Why did I do this?” he cried, his voice echoing in the empty room. “I had everything, a wife, a child, a home, and I threw it away.” Tears soaked his face. “I called myself a man.” His voice dropped, “but I failed.” He closed his eyes tightly. “Where it mattered most.” And in that moment, Chike understood a truth many people learn too late.

 Being a man is not about money. It is not about enjoyment. It is not about pride. It is about presence. It is about love. It is about showing up when it matters the most. But now, it was too late, because some chances do not come twice.