"Jayden! Jessy! For the love of God, you two stop throwing your toys everywhere!"
Amy's voice cracked like dry wood snapping. The cry tore from Amy's throat, ragged and hoarse from a long morning of yelling. At twenty-eight, she should have been in the prime of her life, but the reflection in the window showed a woman who looked a decade older.
She stood in the middle of the cramped sitting room, wrapper barely clinging to her waist, her hair sticking out in every direction like she had been in a fight with the wind. The faded wrapper tied around her waist was a pathetic attempt to hide the twin stains of baby formula and spit-up that had become a permanent part of her wardrobe. Changing was a luxury she couldn't afford.
She had been chasing her three-year-old twins for nearly half an hour. They thought it was a game—two giggling whirlwinds darting between the furniture, hurling blocks and plastic cars at their exhausted mother.
One of the cars struck her right eye.
"Ahh! Jesus!" Amy staggered, clutching her face. She collapsed onto the sagging couch, eyes watering from the sharp pain. Her body shook with a frustrated groan.
But the twins didn't stop. They shrieked with laughter, still pelting the room with toys. To them, Mommy's pain was just another funny reaction in their endless play.
Amy lowered her trembling hand. Her eye throbbed and watered. She wanted—just for a moment—to lie there, close her eyes, and let silence embrace her. But she knew better. In this house, silence never lasted long.
"Amy! Amy! Where's that useless pig?!"
The shrill voice sliced through the air like a knife.
Amy shot up so fast, it was as if someone had poured boiling water on her back. Her heart leaped into her throat. Her hands frantically smoothed down her wrapper, and she pasted on the smile she had perfected over seven years of servitude.
She walked into the main living room just as Amara, her eldest sister-in-law, strutted in like a queen returning to her palace. Amara's face twisted with disgust the moment she saw Amy.
"Yes, sister-in-l—"
The slap landed before the sentence could finish.
Amy's head jerked to the side, cheek stinging with fire. The twins froze mid-giggle and scurried to hide behind their mother's wrapper, clinging to her thighs. Amy's free hand came up to shield her throbbing face, her other arm protectively around her children.
"I asked you," Amara spat, her eyes blazing, "to buy me ingredients from the market because my boyfriend is coming! What are you doing playing with them like a lunatic? Don't you see it's getting late? What will he eat when he comes, sand?"
Amy's lips trembled. "Sister-in-law, I am sorry. I only wanted to tidy the house first since your guest is coming. I thought—"
"You thought?" Amara's voice rose into a screech. "Do you even think? You're useless! You eat my brother's money until you've turned fat and shapeless, and you still act like you work in this house. Mary and Nneka do everything! What exactly do you do, apart from smelling up the place?"
Amy swallowed, her throat dry. The slap still rang in her ears. Her children clung tighter.
Then, in a soft voice, she tried, "Since you are in a hurry, perhaps Mary or Nneka can go to the market? I'll clean quickly and then help them in the kitchen. The twins haven't eaten yet, so I thought—"
Amara's nostrils flared. She stepped closer, hand raised again.
"Who do you think you are to tell me what to do in my brother's house?"
Another slap cracked against Amy's other cheek. Her knees buckled, but she stayed upright, the twins squealing in fear and clutching her legs.
"You're just a wife," Amara hissed. "Know your place."
Amy's lips parted to speak, but before she could, a yawning voice drifted in.
"What's with the noise so early in the morning?"
Their mother, Madam Duru, shuffled in, wearing silky pajamas that clung to her plump frame. She rubbed her eyes lazily, not even glancing at Amy before stretching and sighing.
"Mom," Amara rushed to her side like a wounded child. "Isn't it this useless woman my brother married? Ugo is coming today. I told her to go to the market for me, and she ignored me! She's wasting time, doing nothing. Do you want me to lose Ugo because of her?"
Madam Duru's brows pinched slightly as she turned her tired eyes on Amy.
"Amara… you didn't hit her, did you?"
Amara scoffed. "Mom, that's not the point! What if Ugo thinks I'm lazy because food isn't ready? What if he doesn't take me seriously anymore? You don't understand!"
Her mother shoved her lightly, sighing. Then she turned to Amy.
"Ah, Amy dear." She reached out and touched the red welt on her daughter-in-law's cheek, almost absentmindedly. "Why don't you shower and feed the children first? Then go and buy the ingredients. Mary and Nneka are already busy."
Amy bowed her head, murmured "Yes, Ma," and shuffled out of the room with her twins.
The moment she left, Amara's face twisted in outrage. "Mom! What are you doing?"
Madam Duru lowered herself onto the sofa with a groan. "What do you know? Even if she looks like a monster, she's your brother's wife. Do you want to be kicked out of this house?"
Amara stomped her foot like a child. "He'll never kick us out because of that pig. He doesn't even share a room with her anymore! He barely looks at her. She's just a useless lump occupying the name of Duru Bem's wife."
Her mother smirked faintly. "Ehn, I know. But people already gossip that we've been mooching off him for seven years. If we cause trouble, it'll give them more reason to chase us out. For now, tolerate her. Once we get everything we need, she won't last here long."
Amara's eyes lit up. "Mommy, you have a plan?"
Madam Duru chuckled. "Trust your mother. I always have a plan."
The two of them laughed softly, while Amy, pressed against the wall in the hallway, listened. She felt nothing. No tears, no shock—only the numb ache of familiarity. She had heard worse. For seven years, she had endured their words, their blows, their demands.
But her children's hungry whimpers reminded her that numbness wasn't an option.
She went to the kitchen, fumbling to cook while the twins clung to her wrapper, crying for food. In her hurry, she burned her hand on the hot pot. She hissed, tears of pain stinging her eyes, but still forced herself to finish. She fed them quickly, bathed them, dressed them, She left the bathroom door open and locked her room before taking a shower and getting dressed herself. When she finally went downstairs, the twins in a buggy and two bags of supplies hanging from her arms, she was exhausted.
When she finally came downstairs, she looked almost human again—fresh, clean clothes, face washed, hair tied back. She struggled with the twins, a buggy, and a small purse as she approached Amara.
"Sister-in-law," she asked softly, "I am ready. Can I have the money for the ingredients?"
Amara, lounging on the sofa with her phone, didn't even glance at her. "Use your money first. I don't have cash now. I'll pay you back later."
Amy's heart sank. She knew this game. Seven years, over two million naira gone in "borrowings" that never returned. Before, she didn't mind—she had her own income. But now, with nothing but her husband's monthly allowance, she was scraping every kobo for her children. She had even set aside money for the hospital tomorrow; the twins had been itching, stumbling, rubbing their eyes too much. Something was wrong, and Amy needed answers.
She couldn't let Amara bleed her dry again.
"I am sorry, Sister-in-law," Amy whispered, voice trembling but firm, "but I have no money."
Amara's head snapped up. "What?"
Amy forced herself to meet her eyes. "The money is for the children. I cannot touch it."
Amara stood abruptly, her face thunderous. "And what if I said I'll give it back? Are you deaf? Use it!"
Amy shook her head slowly. "You already owe me over two million naira since I came here. Seven years—"
SLAP. SLAP.
Two sharp blows silenced her.
"Who the hell do you think you are, demanding answers from me?" Amara shrieked.
Just then, her other two sisters-in-law, Onyinye, who was Amy's age, and the youngest, nineteen-year-old Joy, walked in. They watched the scene unfold, their arms crossed. Joy even grabbed a bowl of popcorn from the kitchen, offering some to Onyinye, who took it with a smirk.
"Sister Amara is surely going to teach this buffalo a lesson," Joy said, her voice a low murmur. "How can she bring up the money she gave her so casually? Hmph! She really wants to die."
"No doubt," Onyinye added, and they both laughed.
"What even makes you think you can ask me for that money?" Amara continued, seriously annoyed. "That is my brother's hard-earned money. Why do I have to pay you back? It's not like it's your money anyway. So you have no business or right asking that money from me."
Amara sneered. "So shut up and do as I say!"
Amy's lips quivered, but she straightened her shoulders. "In any case, I can't. I don't have money for you."
"Look at this girl! You've obviously gone crazy" Amara lunged at her again, hand raised—
"What is going on again?"
Madam Duru appeared at the doorway, her voice dry, impatient.
Joy leaped up and clung to her arm. "Mom! You won't believe it. This buffalo had the audacity to ask Sister for all the money she borrowed! Can you imagine?"
Her mother clicked her tongue, looking down at her daughters. "Language. That's your brother's wife. No matter how she looks, she deserves respect."
Amara whined. "Mom, she's impossible! I can't stand her!"
"That's enough!" Madam Duru snapped, pulling a few bills from her pocket and thrusting them at Amy. "Take this. Go quickly, so food can be ready when Ugo arrives."
Amy lowered her head, muttered "Thank you, Ma," and clutched the money. She could feel their eyes burning into her as she turned away, struggling with her twins and buggy.
Her face ached from the slaps, her chest heavy with humiliation. But the air outside the gates was cool, fresh. She drew in a shaky breath.
Amy just wanted to be as far away from these people as she could. She had endured their abuse for so long. She could fight back, but she didn't want to cause more issues between her husband and his family. They would only spread more rumours, soiling her name and dragging her husband's name through the mud. These were the same people who had moved in right after her wedding, promising to stay for a few weeks, but a few weeks had turned into seven whole years. Seven years of no privacy and of being treated like a slave. They had been nice to her before the twins, but now, they treated her like garbage.
She flagged down a taxi as soon as she was out of the house. If only she could escape to the beach, she thought. The waves always made sense when nothing else did. She could stand there for hours, the salt in the air, the horizon stretching forever—reminding her there was a world beyond these walls. A world where she could breathe, where no one called her "pig" or "buffalo."
But she had given up most of the habits she had once cultivated to help her through tough times —for family, for peace, for the dream that maybe, one day, her husband would see her again.
For now, she had errands.
And endurance.
Because endurance was all she had left.