The religious boy scores distinction in the examination
Of course his version of the story
Angela stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but that traitorous towel and a sinful smile.
I quickly stood up like someone hearing the national anthem.
“Aunty, good evening,” I said.
Yes, I called her Aunty.
Maybe if I respected her enough, her conscience would reset.
But no.
She dropped the towel.
Let me say that again, SHE DROPPED THE TOWEL.
On my rug. In my apartment. That she paid for.
Nakedness everywhere. Morality nowhere.
“Why are you running from me?” she asked, walking slowly toward me like I was her prey on National Geographic.
“I’m your husband’s brother,” I whispered.
“And so?” she said. “Is it written anywhere that in-laws must be ugly?”
This woman was quoting Bible verses from the Book of Jezebel.
I dodged her touch like it was NEPA light.
“Angela, stop na!”
She leaned in. I leaned back. She pushed me to the couch.
I almost cried. My phone fell. She picked it up.Then something happened.
Something I wasn’t prepared for. She answered the phone.
“Hello baby,” she said.
It was Femi. I was finished. Dead on arrival. Busted, toasted, roasted.
My destiny started rewinding like a cassette tape.
Then she laughed.
“Oh no, no, your brother is not here o. I’m just relaxing.”
She winked at me. Then dropped the call. Wahala had upgraded to premium.
I decided to flee. But the door was locked, from inside.
Angela threw the key under the bed.
“You’re not going anywhere till we settle this tension,” she said.
Tension ke?
Sister, I need deliverance, not settlement.
Then she said the line that made my ancestors slap their foreheads in heaven.
“I want to be your woman. Femi doesn’t satisfy me anymore.”
I nearly shouted, “Madam, drink water!”
Instead, I said: “Let me go and urinate first.”
She smiled.
I entered the bathroom.
And jumped through the window. Yes. A full-grown man. Wearing only singlet and fear. I landed in the backyard of a shawarma joint.
The staff screamed. I screamed louder. They thought I was a thief. I thought I was escaping from spiritual warfare. I ran all the way back to my brother’s house.
I met him watching Arsenal highlights and smiling like his marriage wasn’t on fire.
“Guy! You’re sweating. Wetin happen?” he asked.
I stared at him. He stared back.
I wanted to tell him his wife was naked in my flat.
But how? How do you tell your own blood, “Bro, your wife is trying to destroy my destiny with comfort and curry rice”? So I said, “Bro, I need to go to church.”
He nodded like it made sense. Angela came in hours later. Fully dressed. Calm. Normal.
Greeted me like nothing happened.
“Hey dear,” she said. “How’s the apartment?”
I choked on my biscuit.
Femi replied, “Yeah, thanks babe for helping him sort it out.”
THIS WOMAN TOLD HIM SHE WAS JUST HELPING.
My brother smiled and added: “You know, not every wife would support her brother-in-law like this.”
I almost collapsed.
She looked at me and said sweetly, “It’s my pleasure. He’s family.”
Family that you were trying to uncloth and rebrand as side boo?
I started praying silently. Lord, if you save me, I will never accept kindness with curtains and air-freshener again.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Angela kept peeking into my room. I pushed a chair against the door.
Around 2am, she texted: “I miss you.”
Miss who?
Na me dey lost? I blocked her.
Next morning, I told my brother I got a job in Enugu. I didn’t get anything.
But I had to flee before this woman used me to shoot season 2 of Forbidden Romance.
He hugged me and said, “You’re always welcome here.”
Angela hugged me too. Pressed body like she was taking measurements. Then whispered, “I’ll miss you. My offer still stands.”
Offer of what? Satanic relocation? I left that same day. As I write this, I’m sharing a room with three uncles and a mosquito that sounds like Wizkid.
But I’m at peace. Because it’s better to be broke and breathing than to be fed and finished.
Adapted from a posting via Facebook by Whispers & Wonders, dated 20 June 2025.
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| Adapted by Fauzi Kadir Chief Editor
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