Wrath of a Woman Part II_A Short Story

Aug 30, 2019 | Boy-Girl Dynamics, Inspiration, Life Hacks, Relationships, Short story

Nneoma found Mike’s house. It was once again in a fancy neighborhood. She wondered how to get in without being seen. She had had to learn patience over the years, but not really by choice. Not having a life gave her time to think of ways to destroy his own.

She just needed a few connections to find the place. A woman who knew another woman whose husband knew somebody.

She got to know the gateman, KJ. She didn’t know what his full name was and she didn’t care. The man acted like he was some big shot running a company when it was only the gate he manned. It was easy to get Mike’s phone number, and his wife, Susan’s when she offered her body for favors. The fool wanted sex, but she would hold it over his head for more of her wishes.

She felt exhilaration when she dialed the number, knowing it was ringing in Mike’s home. The man didn’t pick the first time. No matter, she would try again.

Mike picked up the next day when she tried again. “Hello. Who’s this please? This number has been calling me.”


“Yes,” the voice on the other end of the line said cautiously.

It was like an electric bolt went through her in that moment. “Mike I’m coming for you,” she screamed into the phone. “I’m coming for you and everyone you love.”

She ended the call. She was panting. Adrenaline was still flowing through her body. She used to it to come up with her next plan.

She watched his house for hours. She watched people go in and out. She watched Susan the perfect wife, and she hated her. She also watched the children, Esther and Zion. Esther was seven and Zion was four. They could have been hers. She was supposed to have children too.

Sadness and anger warred in her mind, but anger won over. O the things she would do to make him suffer. “I promise you Mike. I promise you.”


“Who’s this?”

“Just consider me your worst nightmare,” Nneoma said to the woman. She wanted to tell her how much she hated her and wanted to squeeze the life out of her, but she wanted to be taken seriously so she kept her voice cool.

“Your husband has done some very bad things, Susan. Did you know? Or are you just like him?”


She often called the woman even though the woman never picked up her calls again. She sent her many messages. She would type until her fingers cramped. She started to use words like whore and husband stealer. It wasn’t that Nneoma wanted to be Susan, it was that she could have been her, back when she was innocent and life hadn’t burned her.

Pestering them with phone calls and hate texts seemed like such a waste of time. She needed them to believe her. She wasn’t playing.

She sent a message to both of their numbers about their children. Nneoma said they were missing. Mike called her and he sounded very angry. “What’s wrong with you lady?”

“Lady? Mike you know my name. Say my name.”

He hung up. The insolent idiot.

Nneoma was tired of playing the nice girl card.

She saw in her mind’s eye that she could make real impact if their fears were realized. That was when she started to watch their children’s school.


It took a whole month, but she finally found an opening in the school’s pick-up system. By then she had gotten the chemical to render the little boy unconscious, and she had designed a plan that had to work.

When the little boy fell limp in her arms, she was stunned that it worked so quickly. She fled the scene with the child that weighed a bit heavier than she expected.


Nneoma paced her the little square she called her house. What would she do now? She switched off the phone. She didn’t want anyone to call her. She wanted them to panic and feel the pain of loss.

Would she ask for a ransom or just kill the child? She wasn’t certain yet. A ransom might put them under her thumb, but death would send them quickly to the hell she had dreamed up for them. She would wait and see. The boy slept through the night into the next day.

She used to imagine that the child Mike forced her to abort was a boy. He could have been a young man now. Could he have looked like this little boy?

When the little boy came to, her asked for his parents and his sister. “Where am I?”

“You’re not at home.” That was obvious, but she felt the need to say it.

The boy started whimpering and his whimpering turned to crying.

“Shut up. Shut up or I’ll kill you.”

The boy swallowed his tears. He kept making funny sounds that showed he was doing his best not to be heard crying.

After an hour passed, the little imp had the audacity to say he was hungry. Maybe she should poison him and send his dead body to his parents.

She observed him. He looked like Mike, she supposed. He was a pretty four year old with dimples on both of his cheeks. Like Mike.

She decided to give him the jollof rice she had made earlier for herself. They both ate in relative silence. He was apparently very hungry.

After he ate, that’s when the talking started. “What’s your name?” “Who are you?” “Am I going to go home soon?” His voice was squeaky but clear, and almost melodic.

“No, I kidnapped you.”

“What’s kidnapped?”

“It means I stole you.”

The little boy seemed to think about what she had just said. “But it’s not good to steal.”

Nneoma sighed. She didn’t know how to answer this boy’s questions.

“My name is Zion, but everybody at home calls me Zee.”

“Zee. Hm.”

“Miss Lady, why did you kidnap me?”

This was not what she signed up for. “Your daddy did something very bad to me a long time ago, so I’m getting him back.”

“Did he say he was sorry?”

“No,” Nneoma said, more gruffly than she intended to. “No, he didn’t and even if he did I wouldn’t forgive him.”

“But God says we should forgive. Like when Esther does something mean to me, I forgive her.”

“Well, God doesn’t like me so I don’t want to listen to him.”

“God loves you. He loves everybody,” the boy said.

They spent the day doing basically nothing. Nneoma cleaned up and the boy occupied himself with the books in his school bag.

He got hungry again and she had to feed him. She was quickly tiring of him.

As the day turned to night, he began to yawn and stretch. It was obvious this was past his bed time. What time was it that children were supposed to go to bed? Nneoma did not know.

“Can you pray with me? My mom prays with me, but my dad doesn’t.”

Nneoma didn’t know how to pray. Her prayers never worked as far as she knew. “Why don’t you pray by yourself today.”

The little boy did, and he prayed for her. Miss Lady, he said, asking God to help her forgive. He slept on the mat, and she covered him to protect him from the cold.

“I have your son,” she said interrupting his flurry of questions. She was careful not to wake Zion up. Nneoma could hear Susan’s voice in the background crying and asking for her baby.

“I want 50 million. No, forget that. I don’t want anything. I’ll send you his body.”

Susan screamed and Mike begged. He said he was sorry. Nneoma laughed. Too late. Zee was wrong. Sorry didn’t fix everything.


“Would I go to school?” “How long do we do this kidnapping?” “Why won’t you tell me your name?” “Don’t you read your Bible?” “Do you have children?” “What’s your favorite game?”


Every day was something new. Everyday she watched the little imp eat her food. She even had to buy him some clothes. She had to help him brush his teeth, and comb his hair. She had to help him use the toilet. She even had to listen when he sang and prayed.

Zion was teaching her a new game. She taught him one she remembered from her childhood. She often borrowed the phone she used from her acquaintance whose business was running a pay phone. She paid him for use at night. The man had insisted on her getting her own SIM card, which cost her a lot. It was worth it in her eyes.

Weeks had passed since she had called Mike. The fire in her veins was dying down every day.

Sometimes Zion cried for his mom, and today was one of such days. He had learned not to wail, but to sob quietly. This time she comforted him. The truth was that she had nothing to live for except to exact her revenge on Mike for how her life had turned out.

“Miss Lady?”


“I’m happy you’re my friend but I really want to go home.”

“Zee, listen, if I return you to your family then all of this was for nothing. I don’t know what I would do.”

“Why don’t you ask God. Mom says if you get stuck, talk to God.”

So simple. She desperately wanted to be like this child. “Just keep your hands like this,” he said.

Nneoma complied.

“Then you say, Dear heavenly Father.”


“Dear heavenly father, it’s been such a journey getting to know you. Thank you for letting me know the joy of forgiveness and healing. Thank you for giving me a home, and a family.”

“And thank you for mummy and daddy,” Jedidiah said. He had just turned four years old, the same age Zion was when she first met Christ.

“Mummy, would you tell me the meaning of my name again?”

Nneoma kissed her son’s head. Her husband smiled.

“It means Beloved. We gave you that name because it was a name God gave Solomon. He was like a second chance to David and Bathsheba, like you are to us.”

She thought of Zion just then and how grown he must be. She thought of Mike and Susan and all the hurt and healing that came out of that time of her life. She was wrathful woman turned God’s beloved.

“Now you have to go to bed, Jed.” His bed time was eight o’ clock.


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