I always believed my mother loved my wife, Adanna. They cooked together on Sundays, laughed together, even shared market gist like best friends

. Anyone who saw them would swear they were bonded by destiny. So you can imagine my confusion when my mother showed up at my office in Abuja last Thursday looking like someone who had seen a ghost. “My son,” she whispered, refusing to sit. “You must leave that woman today. Today, Chike. Pack your things and go.” I laughed because it wasn’t funny. “Mama, what are you saying? What did Adanna do to you?” She didn’t blink. “I have returned her bride price.” The words hit me like cold water. “Returned what?” I asked, standing up. “Mama, what kind

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