Episode 1: The Helper Who Fucked My Husband
See that girl we brought home to help us? The one with the innocent smile and the big, round hips that looked like she was having twins? She didn’t just scrub the floor… She rode my husband every night, and I didn’t even know it… until I caught her sucking him off on my favorite kitchen stool.
Let’s start at the beginning.
My name is Uju, and I’ve been married for 7 years to my best friend, my roommate, my heartbeat… Michael.
We were the perfect Lagos couple: two busy professionals, both working 9 to 5 (sometimes 7 to 10). We rushed home every night, exhausted like cows after the slaughter. No time to talk, laugh, cuddle, or even make love. Our marriage was slowly turning into a roommate affair.
But we were both chasing money. We wanted to build a house in Lekki and send our future children abroad. You know the Lagos dream.
We only really touched each other on weekends… and even then, we slept like the dead on Saturdays. However, I noticed something… every time I stayed home, I lost the pregnancy. Stress. My body couldn’t carry the baby and Lagos together.
One night, Michael turned to me and said:
Michael: “Honey, this isn’t working. You’re stressed. I’m tired. This house is always upside down. Can’t you stop working and rest? I’ll pay you your salary, baby. Take care of yourself and this house.”
I looked at him as if he had insulted my existence.
Me: “So I should just stay home, wash the dishes, and wait for you to give me money like a housewife? What if one day you stop loving me? Or are you cheating on me? I need my own money too.” Michael: “Uhuhu na… I’ll never cheat on you. God forbid. I love you too much.”
I believed him. What a fool. I believed him.
Our part-time housekeeper, Mama Joy, was getting older. She came in the morning, cleaned, cooked a little, and left at night. But the house was still a mess at night. She was tired, moody, and kept having miscarriages.
I suggested we hire a live-in housekeeper.
Michael frowned instantly.
Michael: “I don’t like the idea. Another woman living in this house 24/7? It’s a recipe for trouble.”
Me: “But I need help now! We can’t afford a nanny or a chef. This one will cook, clean, and help me rest.”
He hesitated… but finally gave in.
I contacted such an agent. And that’s how Amara came into my house.
Tall, chocolate-brown skin like Milo, curvy with a waist like a Coke bottle, soft-spoken, respectful. She waved with both hands. Her food? Better than mine. In fact, Michael started praising her egusi soup as if it were a miracle.
Michael started coming home earlier.
At first, I thought he was finally putting me first. We chatted, laughed, and hugged. I didn’t know he was already sleeping with her.
One night, I woke up to pee and didn’t see him next to me. I assumed he was downstairs working.
The next day, I caught Amara blushing while frying plantains… in her underwear.
Me: “Where did you get those shorts?”
Amara: “Oh! Sorry, Mom. Oga said I should help him get them from the laundry yesterday. I didn’t know he still wore them… I just used them to fry something.”
I ignored him. But my spirit didn’t.
I started noticing little details.
Michael laughed with her in the kitchen.
He bought her new wigs and said they were part of her uniform. I even saw her name saved as “Oga Sugar” on his phone one day when it rang while I was on the bathroom floor.
But I thought to myself, “Whoa, don’t be paranoid. He’s your husband. He said he’d never cheat on me.”
And then, boom!
I got pregnant again.
This time, I was determined to carry the baby to term. I told Michael, and he was excited… but also, somehow… distant.
One afternoon, I came home early from my prenatal appointment… tired, hormonal, and hungry… only to walk into my kitchen and find Michael kneeling between Amara’s thighs, licking her like his life depended on it.
ON MY FAVORITE STOOL.
WHERE I USUALLY SIT AND PEEL YAM.
I screamed.
Me: “MICHAEL!!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!”
He jumped up, his lips glistening, his pants halfway down.
Michael: “Uh-huh… Uh-huh… It’s not what it looks like.” Amara: “Mom, please, I can explain…”
Me: “What?! How did his penis fit in your mouth or how is your butt on my chair?!”
That night, I cried until my pillow was soaked.
Michael didn’t apologize.
Instead, he walked into the room and said calmly:
Michael: “Uh-huh, I think it’s time we talked about something. I want to marry Amara. As a second wife.”
Episode 2: The Day I Went Crazy and the World Saw Me Do It
I froze.
A Second Wife?
After you took away my dignity in my own kitchen? After you left me bleeding abortions while you
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