Mom why Episode 1 and 2

MOM WHY ?

EPISODE 1

If someone had told me that one day my own mother would stab me in the back, I would have sworn it was a lie.

But life has a way of teaching us that betrayal doesn’t always come from strangers—it often comes from the ones you love the most.

The day I married Chike, I thought my happiness was complete.

I can still remember the sound of church bells ringing, my friends dancing, and the smell of jollof rice filling the reception hall.

My mother hugged me so tightly that I almost couldn’t breathe.

She whispered into my ear:
“My daughter, you are blessed.

This marriage will be sweet like honey, and no woman will ever take your husband from you.”

Her words sank deep into my heart. If only I had known that the very same woman would one day be the one to steal him.

For the first year, everything was perfect. Chike would kiss my forehead before leaving for work.

He called me his “queen” and sent me silly love texts in the middle of the day.

My mother visited often, cooking soup, telling me stories, and giving advice. I trusted her completely.

After all, she was my mother—the one person I believed would never hurt me.

But slowly, things started to change.

Chike began sneaking out of the bedroom at night. I would wake up at 2 a.m.

and his side of the bed would be empty.

When I asked where he went, he would smile and say, “I couldn’t sleep, love.

I went to watch football highlights.” I wanted to believe him, but something in his eyes told me there was more.

At the same time, my mother’s visits became strange. She stopped asking before coming.

She would just show up with her bag, sometimes staying for weeks.

When I gently suggested she should rest in her own house, she frowned and said, “So you want to chase me away from your home? I am your mother. Don’t forget that.”

Her words pricked my heart with guilt. I said nothing.

Then came the night that destroyed me.

I came back from work earlier than usual. I wanted to surprise Chike with fried plantain and beans—his favorite.

As I entered the sitting room, I noticed something strange: the lights were off, the TV was silent, and the air felt heavy.

But then I heard it.
Laughter.
Soft whispers.
The creak of the bed upstairs.

My heart began to race so fast I thought I would collapse.

I told myself it was impossible. Maybe it was the TV. Maybe it was just my imagination.

But then I heard it again—my mother’s voice.

At that moment, my stomach twisted. My legs shook as I climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

I placed my hand on the bedroom door, my palms wet with sweat. Slowly, I pushed it open.

And then my whole world crashed.

There they were.
On my bed.
My husband.
And my mother.

They froze like thieves caught in the act. My scream tore through the air.
“Chike! Mother! WHAT IS THIS?!”

My knees weakened. I grabbed the doorframe, my tears flowing uncontrollably. My chest burned as if fire was inside me.

The neighbors knocked on the front door, shouting:
“Madam, are you okay? We heard screaming!”

But I quickly locked it. No one else could see this disgrace.

I turned back to face the two people I trusted most in this world.

I expected shame, regret, apologies—anything. But my mother didn’t look sorry at all.

Instead, she pulled the bedsheet around her body, raised her head proudly, and looked me straight in the eyes.

That was when I realized—
This wasn’t an accident.
This wasn’t weakness.
This was betrayal in its purest form.

And that night, my life shattered into pieces

MOM WHY ?

EPISODE 2

If heartbreak had a face, it would have been mine that night.
If betrayal had a sound, it was my own mother’s laughter echoing in my ears as I stood frozen at the door.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear the house apart. But my voice died inside my throat. All I could do was stare.

My husband.
My own mother.
On the same bed where I once dreamed of raising children.

Tears blurred my vision. My body shook violently, as if I had been thrown into a storm.

“Mother…” my voice cracked like a broken plate. “How could you?”

Chike jumped off the bed, fumbling with his boxers. “Please, Amaka, let me explain—”

“EXPLAIN WHAT?!” I roared, my voice finally finding its strength. “That you were sleeping with my mother under my roof?!”

But then it happened—the thing that broke me beyond repair.

Instead of showing shame, instead of kneeling down and begging for forgiveness, my mother looked me in the eyes and said calmly:

“Amaka, stop shouting. You are embarrassing yourself.”

Embarrassing myself?
Those words pierced me deeper than any knife.

I staggered backward, holding the doorframe for balance. “Mama… is this really you? The same woman who carried me in her womb? The same woman who prayed for my marriage?”

She adjusted the bedsheet and said with no remorse, “I carried you in my womb, yes. But don’t forget that I am still a woman. I have needs too.”

I gasped, clutching my chest. “And you chose my husband to satisfy those needs? Mama, why?”
Her face hardened. “Because you don’t know how to keep a man.”

Her words struck like thunder. I felt my soul leaving my body.

Chike stepped closer, his voice trembling. “Amaka, please, don’t make this worse. I… I love you, but it just happened.”

“It just happened?!” I spat, my tears soaking my cheeks. “No, Chike. Things like this don’t just happen. You made a choice. Both of you did.”

I sank to the floor, my sobs shaking the walls of the house. The man I called my king. The woman I called my mother. My pillars. My blood. They had become my destroyers.

Neighbors kept knocking at the door, calling my name, but I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want them to witness my disgrace.

For hours, the three of us sat in silence. I cried until my eyes were red and swollen. They sat on the bed, whispering occasionally, as if I was invisible.

Finally, I stood up, wiped my tears, and said with a broken voice:

“From this night, I am no longer your daughter. Both of you have killed something inside me that can never be repaired.”

My mother scoffed. “You will forgive me. You are my child. Blood is blood.”

But she was wrong. That night, blood felt like poison.

I grabbed my bag, threw a few clothes inside, and walked out of the house barefoot. The cold wind slapped my face, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside me.

As I reached the gate, Chike rushed after me. “Amaka, wait! Where will you go?”

I turned to him, my eyes blazing with pain.
“Anywhere but here. Anywhere you are. Anywhere she is.”

And I left.
Into the darkness.
Into the unknown.

But one thing burned in my heart:
This wasn’t the end.
No matter how far I ran, the truth would follow me.
And one day, I would return—not as the broken girl they betrayed, but as a woman ready to face them both.

Because sometimes, betrayal doesn’t just destroy you—it awakens you.

That was the night I awakened.

The cold breeze brushed my skin, but instead of fear, I felt something else—strength.
It was as if my tears had washed away the timid girl I used to be, leaving behind a woman who had nothing left to lose.

I told myself, “Amaka, this is not your end. This is your beginning.”

I kept walking until the streets grew quiet. I didn’t care about my bare feet or the stares of strangers who saw me in my torn wrapper with swollen eyes. My body was weak, but my spirit was roaring.

When dawn broke, I found myself at a bus stop. I sat there, hugging my knees, watching people rush off to work. Nobody knew that a woman beside them had just lost everything. Nobody knew my world had shattered in one night.

But inside me, I knew:
I was not going to die here.

I took a deep breath and wiped my tears. The betrayal had opened my eyes. It had shown me the true colors of the people I trusted most. It had taught me the hardest lesson—that love can turn into poison, and blood can become venom.

From that moment, I decided to build my life with my own hands.

I rented a small room later that week. It wasn’t much, but it gave me space to breathe. The ceiling leaked whenever it rained, and the mattress was thin, but it was my sanctuary.

Each night I lay down, I whispered, “They tried to bury me, but I am a seed. I will rise.”

And slowly, I began to rise.

At work, I pushed harder. I no longer wasted time scrolling through Chike’s messages or waiting for my mother’s calls. Instead, I stayed back after hours, asked questions, and volunteered for tasks nobody wanted.