Lost In The Echoes
My name is Fehintola, my life was like any typical Nigerian woman’s life – filled with dreams of a loving family, happiness, and cherished moments. Femi and I decided to travel to the village with our beloved son, Ademola, for a family gathering.
The air was ripe with anticipation and laughter as we embarked on that journey, never suspecting that it would lead us into a haunting moment of despair.
As we navigated the winding roads, thick forests closing in around us, tragedy struck. A sudden accident left our car mangled, and Ademola, our precious son, died at the scene.
The anguish that consumed Femi and me was unbearable, a sorrow that seemed impossible to endure. The pain that gripped our hearts was beyond words, a void that could never be filled.
Weeks passed, and we returned home, but grief clung to us like a shadow. In the quiet moments, I began to see and hear Ademola, as if he were still with us.
I would talk to him, hold conversations as though he was right beside me, blurring the lines between the living and the dead.
Femi, desperate to help me heal, tried to make me understand that Ademola was gone, and it was time to let him rest in peace.
But I couldn’t let go. Ademola’s presence felt so real, like he was standing beside me. Sometimes I would hold his hand and embrace him.
Months went by, and my obsession with Ademola’s presence grew stronger. I became convinced that Femi was conspiring against us, trying to sever our connection.
The tension between us escalated, my unwavering belief in Ademola’s continued existence driving a thick line between us.
One fateful night, Femi’s concern for my well-being reached a climax. He believed I had lost touch with reality and decided to take me to a psychiatric home against my will. In my despair, I saw him as the enemy trying to separate me from my son.
In the dimly lit room, I confronted Femi, accusing him of plotting against our son and me. In the grip of madness, I picked up a knife, believing I was protecting my son from the threat I imagined Femi to be.
As he attempted to come towards me, I snapped. Fear and anger surged within me, and I struck him with the knife. In that moment of madness, I took Femi’s life.
As Femi fell to the ground, gasping for breath, I recoiled in shock, the haze of my delusion slowly lifting. I looked around the room, expecting to find Ademola, only to be met with empty silence.
Reality crashed down on me as I stood over his lifeless body, the horror of what I had done slowly sinking in.
Ademola had never been there; it was all an illusion, a manifestation of my grief-stricken mind. In my desperate attempt to hold onto my son, I had taken the life of the one person who had been with me through it all.
My heart shattered as I faced the horrifying truth of my actions. I had killed my husband, believing I was protecting our son, but in the end, I had lost them both.
The room was filled with haunting silence, and I was left alone, a prisoner of my own delusions, forever haunted by my actions that had torn my family apart.
