My husband pays me a weekly allowance to never step a foot outside our mansion in Banana Island, but today I sneaked out and saw my own obituary poster pasted on our estate gate.
Life with Emeka has been a golden cage. When we married two years ago, I was a struggling hairdresser in Ikorodu. He came out of nowhere with his convoy of black G-Wagons, swept me off my feet, and promised me paradise.
The only condition was simple. “Adanna, the world is ev!l. I don’t want the sun to touch your skin. I don’t want other men to look at you. Stay inside, and I will give you the world.”
I agreed. Who wouldn’t?
For two years, I haven’t seen the streets of Lagos. I order everything online. My clothes, my creams, even my sanitary pads are delivered by a mute driver who leaves them at the door. Emeka returns home at 9 PM every night, smelling of expensive cologne and sometimes something earthy, like fresh soil.
But today, boredom almost k!lled me. The internet was down. The silence in the massive house was screaming at me. Emeka had forgotten his other phone on the dining table, and it kept buzzing.
I didn’t touch the phone. I only wanted fresh air.
I bribed the new gateman, Musa, with N50,000. He opened the pedestrian gate, looking around fearfully.
“Madam, make you quick o. Oga go k!ll me.”
I stepped out. The Banana Island breeze felt heavy, not fresh.
I walked to the estate security post, only to see people. That was when I saw it.
A large, glossy poster pasted on the pillar.
TRANSITION TO GLORY.
Gone too soon.
Mrs. Adanna Okechukwu (1998 – 2025).
Funeral Date. TODAY.
My knees turned to water. I checked the picture. It was me. It was the selfie I took in the bathroom yesterday. The one I hadn’t even posted on Instagram because Emeka banned me from social media.
And the date… Today?
I ran back to the house, my heart pounding like a drum. I pushed Musa aside and ran into the living room.
“Emeka!” I screamed.
The house was freezing cold. The ACs were blasting at 16 degrees, colder than usual.
I ran to the Master Bedroom. The door was slightly open.
Inside, the room was cleared of all furniture. In the center of the room lay a white casket.
Standing over it was Emeka. He was wearing an all-white Agbada, holding a live white dove in one hand and a sharp kn!fe in the other.
He looked up at me. He wasn’t shocked. He looked sad.
“You went outside, Adanna,” he said softly. “You saw the poster.”
“Emeka, why is my picture on the gate? Why is there a coffin here?” I was shaking, backing away toward story by jerry smith the door.
He sighed and dropped the dove. It didn’t fly. It only lay there, frozen in fear.
“The money, the cars, the house… the Baba gave us a two-year expiry date,” he whispered, walking slowly toward me. “I tried to negotiate, Nne. I tried. But the exchange rate for this kind of wealth is bl00d.”
I turned to run, but the bedroom door slammed shut by itself.
“It is already 6 PM,” Emeka said, checking his diamond Rolex. “The transaction must be completed before sunset.”
He raised the kn!fe.
“Don’t worry, my love. You won’t feel pain. You will only sleep.”
I am currently locked in the ensuite bathroom. He is not banging on the door. He is only singing a hymn outside.
“Abraham’s blessings are mine…”
The lights just went off. I can hear the key turning in the lock.
Please, if anyone sees this… can anything be done? Or is it too late?
