The sun had barely risen when David stood outside his rented apartment, staring at the wrinkled, folded letter Mercy had sent him. The handwriting was neat, but each word pierced through him like a dagger wrapped in shame. His heart beat faster—not from guilt, but from a flicker of opportunity.
He slowly read the letter again:
> "David, I have no grudge against you. I am focusing on raising our children. They are doing well in school, and though it's not easy, God is helping me. If you ever think about them, do so with kindness. Life is too short for hatred. – Mercy."
David chuckled to himself bitterly. "Hmm… It's like this woman is enjoying now. She's becoming something without me. Her children are progressing. She has a good job. They must be eating well too. She's even sounding like a pastor in this letter."
He looked around the compound. His tattered shirt hung off his thin shoulders, and the heat of poverty clung to his skin. There was no food in the house. No money. No job. No respect. Even Sarah, his current wife, barely had anything to offer but insults and empty promises.
His lips curled into a sly grin. "Maybe it's time to return to Mercy. Yes… Yes. That's the way out. I'll go back to her. Pretend I've changed. She still has that soft heart. Once she welcomes me back, I'll get money from her. Then I'll send it to Sarah."
That evening, as David sat outside under the tree shading the dusty compound, Sarah returned from her usual gossip trip to her friend's house. Her face was shiny from the heat, and she hissed loudly as she kicked off her slippers.
"Ah! Today was sweet o," she laughed, fanning herself with the edge of her wrapper. "You know that Uchechi? Her husband caught her chatting with that mechanic boy!"
David didn't respond. He watched her quietly, calculating his next words.
"Sarah," he finally said.
"Hmm?" she replied, not really paying attention.
"I've been thinking," he continued carefully. "There's no food, no work. Things are bad. I think… it's better you go back to the village for now."
Sarah's head turned sharply, her eyes wide. "Are you mad? What did you just say?"
David stood up, pretending to be calm. "You heard me. Go back to your father's house for now. Let me try and find a way to stand on my feet. Later I'll come for you."
Sarah's nostrils flared. "So this is your plan, ehn? After everything, you want to dump me like a sack of old clothes? David, don't try me o!"
"I didn't say I'm leaving you," David said, raising his hands in defense. "I'm going to Mercy's house. Her life is better now. I'll tell her I've changed. I'll act humble. I'll win her heart again. She'll give me money, then I'll send it to you in the village."
Sarah crossed her arms. "So I should go and suffer in the village while you enjoy your life with your first wife?"
David shrugged. "At least we'll have something to eat. This life we're living here… it's useless."
Silence fell between them. Sarah, furious but helpless, knew David had already made up his mind. She picked up her slippers and stormed inside.
Days turned to weeks, and Christmas slowly approached.
David began to call Mercy on the phone, using a calm, low voice that made him sound like a changed man.
"Mercy… it's me, David. I just wanted to check on the children. How are they? I know I've wronged you. James' death has opened my eyes."
Mercy, surprised by the sudden humility, replied carefully. "They're fine. I'm doing my best."
"I miss them," David continued. "I miss you too. I've changed, Mercy. I know I was a terrible husband. But I'm not that man anymore. Please forgive me. At least let me come and see the children during Christmas."
Mercy's heart was soft, and the mention of James—David's late elder brother who always supported her—stirred her emotions.
She paused, then said, "Okay, you can come. But only to visit the children."
David smiled as he ended the call. The plan was working.
He told Sarah, "I'll be leaving after Christmas day. Once I get to Mercy's house, I'll collect any money I can and send it to you. Just wait for me."
Christmas morning came like a silent prayer.
Mercy prepared food for the children—jollof rice, fried meat, and chin-chin. Daniel, now older and more understanding of the world, was quiet but watchful. Faith helped in the kitchen, and Anita was decorating the small living room with balloons and handmade paper art.
At noon, David arrived. He wore a faded shirt and tried to act gentle.
Mercy opened the door slowly. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe.
"You're early," she said plainly.
"I wanted to see the kids before they eat," David replied with a crooked smile.
Daniel peeked from behind the curtain. "Is that… daddy?" he asked Faith quietly.
Faith looked unsure. "Yes, but… don't get too excited."
David hugged the children. He forced himself to look warm, present, and apologetic. Mercy served him food, but she didn't smile.
They all sat and ate in silence, except for Destiny and John, the younger boys who were too small to understand the tension in the air.
After the meal, David took Mercy aside. "Thank you, Mercy. For this kindness. You didn't have to."
"I did it for the children," she replied.
"I know," he nodded. "But please… let me stay for a few days. I'm not asking for much. I have nowhere else to go."
Mercy looked at him. She didn't answer.
That night, David stayed on the couch. Mercy gave him a wrapper and a pillow. She didn't trust him, but her heart was torn. The man she once loved was here, broken and hungry.
As she watched him sleep, her thoughts were loud.
Can people really change? Is he back because he regrets everything… or because he needs something?
David, on the other hand, smiled quietly to himself under the wrapper.
Just a little more pretending… then I'll ask for money.
But what he didn't know was that Daniel, from the hallway, had seen the expression on his father's face. The boy's heart sank.
Daddy hasn't changed.