My husband told me that I am usele§s to him because I don’t support financiallyin the house.

I depend on him for everything.

He said that to me in front of our visitors—his friends—just because I asked him for money to buy a bag of pure water.

He threw the money at me angrily and kept nagging about me “sleeping all day doing nothing.”

I have reached my breaking point.

For years, I poured myself into this home—four boys, one toddler girl, and a husband who thought money was the only contribution that mattered.

Day after day, I washed, cooked, scrubbed, taught, bathed, consoled, and prayed.

Yet all he ever gave me in return were words that stung deeper than knives.

Insults upon insults that rang in my ears every night as I dragged my tired body to bed, too exhausted to even cry.

But this Saturday morning, I made up my mind to be the woman he wanted.

I woke before the children stirred. I looked at little Amanda, my baby girl, breathing softly in her sleep.

I kissed her forehead, whispered a prayer over her, and for the first time in years, I didn’t tie a wrapper around my waist to start sweeping. I picked up my bag, tiptoed to the door, and slipped out.

When I got to my cousin’s house, I sat on her couch and just… breathed. My shoulders dropped as if I had been carrying cement blocks all my life.

I requested food, and my cousin handed me fried rice, turkey wings and Hollandia.

No kids to drag with me.

It felt like a national holiday in my chest.

My cousin is a busy woman who pays a nanny to do the chores and take care of her two kids.
Her husband lives abroad.

I asked her for an advance payment so I could work for two days. She was happy her children would be in trusted hands, so she agreed and paid me ₦25,000.

Few hours later, her kids were napping, the whole house was cleaned by me.

Since I am a mother of five—plus a grown man I take care of—it was almost too easy to handle.

Later, I went to the gym house for some quiet self-care, doing yoga with a plate of fried chicken by my side. As the first bite melted in my mouth, my phone buzzed violently.

I regretted turning it on to listen to music.

The sound of chaos erupted from the speaker—children crying, one screaming in the background.

“Oluchi! Where did you leave these children and go? And why did you put your phone off since morning!” my husband’s voice boomed.
I chewed slowly, swallowed, then replied, “Honey, I’ve gone to make money.

Please, take care of the house today and tomorrow. You said I’m useless, that I’m just a housewife. Well… you were right.”

He replied.

“What do you mean,eh? This boy Clinton has wet the bed! Kene just broke the television!

The baby has been crying for an hour, Justin won’t brush his teeth, Chimamkpa is shouting for bread—who will cook? Who will clean? Who will—”
I interrupted calmly and sweetly.

“Baby, relax. I’ll even send you money to buy foodstuff. After all, being a housewife is not work, right? Since you provide, let me provide today and tomorrow.

I will give you a few tips. Justin likes Indomie with boiled egg.

Clinton likes his fried with egg inside. Chimamkpa will only eat toast and bread—if you give him Indomie, prepare for him to purge all night.

Kene likes his Indomie with plenty of water. As for Amanda, make her cereal, give her medicine, and don’t forget her immunization appointment today. About them spoiling everything you are the man of the house,control them.

Please make sure to put Amanda to sleep before 6pm else she will cry all night and also make sure to wake up at night to prepare her meal.

The boys had to be reminded to pee at midnight to avoid bedwetting but if you are too tired to do it, you can wash the bedsheets after church service tomorrow. Please take the kids with you to church and male sure they dont disturb the whole church, don’t forget to carry their lunch box.

You can fit it in a Ghana must go if you are too shy to carry my bag. I am busy at work now, will let you know about others when I am done. Love you”.

There was silence on his end. Then a strained, “Oluchi… if this is a joke—”
I ended the call.

Without wasting time, I transferred fifteen thousand naira straight to his account. Then I switched off my phone and for the first time in a long time, I smiled.

Working ain’t so bad after all.

I think I should stay for one month….

Episode 2

The second day dawned with cries that shook the walls of the house before the sun even rose, and it was not the alarm clock that dragged my husband out of bed but the piercing wails of our youngest child demanding breakfast while the older two fought over who should use the bathroom first, and he stumbled into the kitchen half asleep, burning the pap on the fire and spilling sugar all over the floor, muttering under his breath that perhaps yesterday’s chaos was just bad luck but by the time he returned with a poorly prepared breakfast, the children refused to eat, calling it “mommy’s food gone wrong,” and he realized this was not going to be as easy as he thought.

Meanwhile, at my cousin’s place, I woke up to the luxury of silence, no tiny fists knocking on the bedroom door, no hurried rush to pack school bags, and as

I sipped my tea slowly, my cousin smiled and said, “Now you see what you’ve been missing out on—peace,” and I laughed, though a part of me missed my children, but another part of me felt satisfied knowing their father was finally tasting the storm he once belittled.

Back at home, he had already forgotten to iron their uniforms properly, leaving one child in crumpled clothes, which earned mocking laughs from other pupils at school, and when the teacher called to ask why homework was not done, he stammered, unable to admit he had fallen asleep while they were meant to be studying, and by the time he picked them up in the evening, they were cranky, hungry, and covered in dust, turning the once-proud man into a shadow of himself.

The neighbors, who once envied him for having a stay-at-home wife who cared for everything, now watched from their verandas as he juggled grocery bags, carried a crying toddler on his back, and shouted at the other two who ran into the street, and whispers began to spread—“His wife left only two days, and see him already losing his mind.” I, on the other hand, had been encouraged by my cousin to join her at her small shop for the day, and to my surprise,

I enjoyed assisting customers, learning a few business tricks, and even making some money on the side, and that night as I held the small wad of cash, I realized I was not as “useless” as my husband had once called me; I only needed the chance to prove myself.

By the evening of the second day, my husband was on the phone, his voice weary and broken, first pretending to be strong but finally breaking down, saying, “Please come back, I can’t do this without you, I was wrong,” and I listened in silence, my heart torn between the love

I still had for him and the satisfaction of hearing him admit the truth, and though I did not respond immediately, I knew he had learned the lesson he desperately needed—that being a mother and wife is not a small duty but the foundation that keeps the entire household standing.

Final Episode (3)

When I finally returned home on the third day, I did not announce myself.

I simply stood by the door and watched as my once-proud husband wrestled with three restless children—one crying for food, another scribbling on the wall with charcoal, and the eldest complaining bitterly about missing his school assignment.

The house was upside down; dirty clothes lay in a heap on the couch, the sink overflowed with unwashed plates, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt beans.

My husband looked exhausted—his eyes sunken, his shirt stained, his hair rough—and when he saw me, he froze, as though ashamed to be caught so broken.

For a moment, pride kept him silent, but then the tears he had been fighting poured down, and he fell to his knees, clutching my hand, whispering, “I am sorry… I never knew. I thought all you did was easy, I thought it didn’t count because it didn’t bring money.

I was blind.” The children rushed to me, their small arms wrapping around my waist, crying and smiling at the same time, and in that moment, my heart softened, but I also knew I had to speak the truth he needed to hear. I told him, “Being a wife and mother is work.

It is not measured by money but by the peace, order, and love I keep alive in this home.

If I fail, this whole house collapses.

You saw it yourself.” He nodded like a child, broken and humbled, promising to never again belittle my role, promising to stand by me and even help where he could instead of mocking.

That evening, for the first time, he cooked beside me, cleaned the kitchen without complaint, and tucked the children into bed while I sat, finally seen and appreciated.

The lesson became clear—not just for him but for anyone who cared to watch—that a woman’s role in the home is not useless, it is priceless, and any husband who dares to despise it will one day taste the weight of what she carries silently every single day.

And so, our story did not end in separation but in rebirth, with respect growing where ignorance once lived.

The end