Chapter 4
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The cracks in Abioye’s life started small, easy to ignore, easy to pretend away. But within a month, they began to widen into gaping holes.
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She was constantly sick in the mornings, throwing up her meals and losing her appetite for foods she once loved. Her moods swung violently, one moment snapping at Mercy, the next crying alone in her room. Her body felt like it wasn’t hers anymore her feet swelled, her bones ached, and exhaustion clung to her like a wet cloth.
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Mercy tried her best to help. "Abioye, are you okay? Talk to me," she asked one night as they were eating.
But Abioye forced a smile and turned her back. “I’m fine, just tired.”
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To hide her tracks, she kept up the charade. She smiled when people were around, forced herself to eat a little, and lied to anyone who asked. The only person she confided in was Bamidele.
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“I think it’s malaria or typhoid,” she told him weakly over the phone.
Bamidele laughed softly, “You’ll be fine. Just rest and take malaria drugs. No big deal.”
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But it was a big deal.
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Abioye couldn’t attend lectures anymore. She would sit at home for hours, weak and drained, staring at the ceiling, feeling her world spiral. She ignored calls, refused to see a doctor, and missed most of her tests and exams. Even lecturers began asking after her, but no one could give a clear answer.
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Rumors started floating around campus. One afternoon, Mercy was in class when she overheard two students gossiping behind her.
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“I heard Abioye is dating Bamidele,” one whispered.
“Keep your voice down,” the other replied. “But is that true?”
“Yes. Someone I trust told me. She’s not even been in school lately. I suspect she’s pregnant.”
“Pregnant? Ah! Why would she fall for that playboy? That guy has no good intentions.”
“Maybe she’s just gullible. You know how girls are when they’re blinded by sweet words and fine faces.”
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Mercy’s heart dropped. She clenched her fists. I warned her. I told her. And now this?
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Weeks later, exam results came out. Mercy and Abioye went together to check the board.
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Mercy smiled. She had passed excellently.
Abioye stood frozen. Her mouth trembled as she read her scores she had failed 12 out of 14 courses. Her CGPA had dropped to 0.00.
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“My own has finished,” she whispered, voice hollow.
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When they got home, Abioye stormed into her room without a word. Fifteen minutes later, Mercy knocked.
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“Come in,” came the tired voice.
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Mercy sat down beside her. “Abioye, can I talk to you for a moment?”
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“Go on.”
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Mercy cleared her throat. “How did you get here? Look at your result. You failed terribly. Your CGPA is at zero. You put Bamidele above your life, above your education, and now... look what happened.”
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Abioye scoffed, clapping her hands slowly. “So my fake friend now wants to advise me. Because of one bad result, you think you’re better than me?”
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“No, that’s not what Mercy tried to explain.
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“You know what?” Abioye interrupted. “I love Bamidele. No matter what anyone says, that won’t change.”
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Mercy stared at her in disbelief. “I thought you had sense. But clearly, you don’t. Enjoy yourself while it lasts. I just hope you’ll survive the consequences.”
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She stood up and walked away, leaving Abioye in silent rage.
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The worst came days later. During a school seminar, Abioye tried to stand up and leave the hall for some fresh air. As she took a step, everything spun. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed on the tiled floor.
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Screams echoed in the hall. Students rushed to her aid and carried her to the school clinic.
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After running several tests, the nurse returned with a file and a calm but serious look.
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“Young lady,” she said, “you shouldn’t stress yourself in your condition.”
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“What condition?” Abioye asked, confused.
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“You’re two months pregnant.”
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The room spun again.
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“What?” she cried. “No, that’s not possible!”
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“It’s confirmed. See the doctor for counseling before you leave,” the nurse said, walking away.
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News spread like wildfire. People whispered in the hallways, messaged in group chats. Abioye didn’t return to class. She stayed home, curled up in bed, tears soaking her pillow. Pregnant? How?
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Then it hit her. That night in the hotel. The party. The drink.
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She stormed to the hotel and begged the manager to show her CCTV footage, claiming it was a matter of life and death. They hesitated, but after seeing her state, they agreed.
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As the footage played, her heart shattered. There it was Bamidele, pouring something into her drink while she looked away. Moments later, he led her to a room.
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She screamed. Her legs buckled, and she fell to the floor crying.
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Gripping the footage like her last hope, she rushed to Bamidele’s apartment. She knocked, breathing hard. When the door opened, she froze.
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There he was, shirtless, with another girl on his lap, laughing and caressing his chest.
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He frowned. “What do you want?”
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Abioye raised the phone in her hand. “You did this to me! I’m pregnant! And I know what you did. I saw the video.”
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He laughed. Loud and cruel. “So you finally figured it out. You were so easy. You fell right into my trap. Don’t come here again.”
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She stood there, trembling, tears streaking down her face. The other girl giggled and pulled him back inside. The door slammed shut.
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Abioye remained on the spot, shaking. Her heart broken. Her world destroyed.
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Back at home, Mercy, now deeply worried, made a decision. She called Abioye’s mother.
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“Good evening ma.”
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“Good evening Mercy. Why are you calling instead of Abioye? Where is she?”
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“I’m sorry ma… Abioye is pregnant. And the school has issued her a letter of withdrawal.”
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There was silence. Then a heartbroken scream.
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“No… no… we warned her. We really warned her…”
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and then Add to home screen.