The gentle hum of life returned to the household as Mercy and Daniel came back from the hospital. The pain and fear that had nearly drowned them had given way to a quiet determination. Mercy refused to let her son's condition swallow them whole. As Daniel slowly regained strength, he returned to school with his books pressed close to his chest and a soft smile that masked all the pain he'd endured. His mother, meanwhile, resumed work at her store, though the weight on her shoulders had only grown heavier.
Mercy was now caught between caring for her fragile son and repaying two unforgiving loans. Each day she owed ₦3,500 — a sum that felt like a mountain on her chest. The moneylenders were relentless. Whether she sold enough goods or not, whether it rained or the sun scorched the earth, they would come knocking. They didn't care about Daniel's condition or her sleepless nights. To them, Mercy was just another debtor with a deadline.
Each morning, she opened the store before the sun had fully risen. She prayed silently while arranging garri, tomatoes, seasoning cubes, and packs of spaghetti on the wooden counter. Customers came and went — some buying in bulk, others bargaining with coins — but no matter how much she sold, it was never enough. After paying off her dues for the day, she barely had enough left to feed her children a decent meal.
Still, Mercy pressed on.
One quiet Tuesday, exactly one week after returning from the hospital, she decided to go to the market to restock her store. The air was thick with heat, and her slippers clapped against the dusty road as she walked. Her heart was heavy, and her thoughts kept drifting to Daniel, wondering if he had eaten well at school, if his legs were strong enough, if the school nurse was watching closely enough.
As she approached the junction near the main market, she heard someone call her name.
"Mercy?"
She turned quickly.
Standing just a few feet away was a man she hadn't seen in years — tall, a little round in the belly, wearing a blue kaftan. He looked familiar.
"Eh! Chukwudi!" Mercy gasped, recognizing him. "Long time o!"
They both laughed and hugged lightly, the way old friends do when they cross paths unexpectedly.
"It's been ages," he said, smiling. "I just dey waka market small. I dey stay for Owerri now but came to see someone here."
Mercy smiled, grateful for the friendly face. "How's your family?"
"Fine. My children don grow finish," he chuckled. Then, with a hesitant look, he added, "Have you heard what happened to James?"
Her smile slowly faded. "James?" she echoed.
"Your husband's elder brother," Chukwudi clarified.
Mercy's heart dropped. "No… what happened?"
Chukwudi lowered his gaze. "He passed on. Last month. Kidney failure."
Mercy staggered backward slightly, clutching her chest. "Jesus! James is dead?"
Chukwudi nodded solemnly. "They said it started small, but he refused to go to the hospital early. By the time they took him, it was too late."
Mercy was speechless. Her mind raced. James — the same James who once held so much influence over her husband — was gone? She remembered how he had encouraged David to take a second wife. How his opinions had torn their family apart. And now, he was no more.
Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry to hear this," she whispered.
"I thought you'd have heard by now," Chukwudi said. "David was even in the village for the burial."
Mercy wiped her face. "Thank you for telling me. Please greet your family for me."
"I will. Take care of yourself," Chukwudi replied before disappearing into the crowd.
---
Back home, Mercy sat quietly on the old wooden chair in their parlor. Her bag of foodstuff lay untouched beside her. Faith, Anita, and Daniel were all around, laughing faintly as they helped with chores. She called them into the parlor gently.
They sat on the rug, sensing something was wrong.
"I saw your father's friend at the market today," Mercy began, her voice heavy. "He told me… James is dead."
The room fell silent.
Faith looked confused. "Uncle James?"
"Yes," Mercy said, nodding. "Kidney problem."
Daniel leaned against his sister. "Is Daddy okay?"
Mercy swallowed a lump in her throat. "I don't know, my son. But we will pray for him."
They all bowed their heads as Mercy led a simple prayer. In her heart, though, she couldn't help but wonder — would David feel regret? Would he feel any sense of remorse for how James had influenced his decisions? Or was his heart too hardened to feel anything anymore?
That night, after the children had gone to bed, Mercy sat alone with a pen and paper. The kerosene lamp flickered beside her, casting shadows on the faded walls. She began to write.
---
Dear David,
I heard your brother is dead. I'm sorry.
Though we have been apart for many years and you left me with pain I still carry, I could never wish death on you or your family.
I wonder how you feel. Do you still carry the same anger in your heart? Do you still think I was the problem? Or has time made you look at things differently?
James is gone, but his words still echo in my ears. He told you to leave me. He encouraged you to bring another woman into our home. And you listened.
Do you regret it now?
Daniel is still sick, but he's trying. He's so strong — stronger than you will ever know. He loves you, even though he hardly remembers your face.
I'm not writing this letter to beg you to return. That chapter is closed.
I just needed to say it.
I forgive you.
Maybe I'm foolish for that, but I need peace — for myself, for our children.
Wherever you are, may God be with you.
Mercy.
---
She folded the letter slowly, staring at it for a long time before slipping it into her Bible. She would never send it. She had no intention of mailing it to the village or confronting him with it. But she needed to write it. It was the letter she never sent — a release of the pain and heaviness she had buried for so long.
Sometimes, healing doesn't come through confrontation. Sometimes it comes through writing the words your heart could never say out loud.
And Mercy… she was healing.
Even if slowly.