Sick (Part 3)


Continued from the last part…

Why do hate your parents so much?” Aunty Nkiruka, my mom’s twin sister who came visiting asked me, emphasising the ‘why‘.

Aunty Nkiru is my only friend and confidante, a direct opposite of my mother; she is always vibrant and full of life while my mom is gentle, fragile and cries a lot. Nevertheless, they are identical twins which makes it almost impossible for people to tell them apart. “Why do you always make your mother cry and your father grieve?” she continued, “please my angel, let them feel the joy of parenthood,” she pleaded with worry evident on her face pretty face. I guess my parent would have complained to her and might have pleaded to her to come talk to me.

“Aunty, I just hate them for doing this to me. They intentionally caused me pain and agony, they made me sick!”

“Ha! Chineke! Dumebi, who is putting wild thoughts into your head your parents are also victims too, you know. Pease my lov-”

“But Aunty,” I interrupted her, “how can they feel the joy of parenthood when I’m sick? They actually brought this upon themselves, so they should face the consequence of their silly actions. And they better not bring another me into this world with their everyday cuddling and kissing.”

“Ha! See my niece o! You are such a smart and mature girl, you will make a good doctor when you grow up, honey,” she said with awe and and admiration written all over her beautiful face.

“Aunty, that is if I’m still alive to become a doctor.”

“You will, dear. You surely will.”

*** *** *** ***

“Mom! You are vomiting!” Seeing my mom throw up made me shriek with fear. Yes, fear.

I’ve been watching her closely lately, she’s been exhibiting signs of a woman who has conceived, but I only wanted to see her vomit profusely to be sure. Now I’m certain. I know these things, I know when a woman is pregnant, my sixteen year old brain is far older than my physical appearance. I know another me is on it’s way, I felt helpless.

Dumebi m, I am sor-”

“Mom, why?” I cried, “why are you doing this to yourself? Why do you keep on torturing me?” I kept on asking her questions she could not answer.

“My love, I’m sorry. I don’t make babies, God makes them,” she said trying to touch me.

I evaded her touch and ran to my room passing my dad but ignoring him completely.

Read Part Four.

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Gloria is a writer who loves reading and enjoys writing a lot. She is also a script writer and wants to make her mother proud.


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