PIECE OF ME

CHAPTER 1 The day the call came, I was in class pretending to listen. My pen was moving across the page, scribbling notes I couldn’t understand, when my phone buzzed in my bag. It wasn’t unusual—my phone was always buzzing—but that vibration carried something different. Heavy. I pulled it out. A strange number. Normally, I wouldn’t pick. But something in my chest tightened, so I swiped. “Is this Uche Monwon?” “Yes…” My voice came out cautious. “This is the University of Port Harcourt Teaching Hospital Mortuary. Please, you need to come immediately.” The room tilted. For a second, I thought the words had come from someone else’s life, not mine. “What? Mortuary? Who?” “Your father.” I don’t remember if I hung up. I don’t even remember leaving the class. All I remember is standing outside, people rushing past me, laughing, calling out to friends, while I just stood there with the phone clutched in my hand and my heart refusing to accept what I’d just heard. My father was not dead. He couldn’t be. The drive to the hospital was a blur. I don’t remember the keke driver’s face. I don’t remember the streets. I only remember stepping into the cold, sterile air of the mortuary, the smell hitting me first. Sharp. Metallic. A smell that clung to your clothes, your skin, your soul. They asked me to confirm. They pulled out a stretcher, covered with a white cloth. “Are you ready?” the man asked. I wasn’t. But I nodded. The cloth peeled back. It was him. My father. My strength. My everything. His skin looked dull, stretched wrong. His lips didn’t smile like they used to. His chest didn’t rise. He was lying there like a stranger in my father’s body. I waited for tears. None came. My throat burned, my chest ached, but nothing. “Do you confirm?” the man pressed. “Yes.” My voice was so small, I barely recognized it. That was it. They covered him again. They wheeled him away. I stood there staring at the empty space he left, numb. The days after were a blur of people and noise I couldn’t process. Relatives pouring in, prayers muttered, food I couldn’t eat. My father’s chair sat empty in the living room, and every time I passed it, I felt like I was going insane. I kept waiting for the tears. They never came. Everyone around me cried, wailed, fell to the floor. Me? Nothing. At night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling fan, my chest tight but dry. It made me feel like a monster. How could I not cry for the man who raised me? Who called me his star? Five days. That’s all it took for life to slice me again. Daniel called. My boyfriend. The man I thought I’d spend forever with. “Can we meet?” he asked. His tone was flat, unfamiliar. I thought he wanted to comfort me. I thought he wanted to hold me through this storm. I was wrong. We met at the small eatery down the road from school. I wore black, my eyes swollen from sleeplessness even if I hadn’t shed tears. He sat across from me, restless, tapping his fingers on the table. “I don’t think we should continue this,” he said. The words didn’t register at first. “What?” “I can’t do this anymore, Uche. I need to focus on myself. My career. Us… it’s not working.” My chest cracked, but I stayed quiet. “You’re breaking up with me? Now?” He shrugged like it was nothing. Like my world hadn’t just collapsed with my father’s death. “I’m sorry.” That was it. No explanation. No comfort. He walked away, leaving me staring at an untouched plate of rice and stew. I felt hollow. Alone. Two weeks later, I sat in the hospital again, my second appointment. The doctor stared at the file in his hands, then at me. His eyes carried a weight I didn’t like. “Uche, you’re pregnant.” The room spun. My mouth opened but no sound came out. Pregnant? “Twins,” he added. I gripped the edge of the chair. My hands went cold. “No… no, that can’t be.” He sighed. “It’s complicated. The pregnancy is ectopic. Both fetuses are developing outside your womb. It’s dangerous. We need to act quickly.” My ears rang. Words jumbled. Pregnant. Twins. Dangerous. The doctor leaned forward. “This is not something you can handle alone. I need you to come with your partner, your husband, or a family member. We must discuss the risks and options together.” I shook my head violently. “No. It’s fine. I’ll handle it.” His voice hardened. “No, Uche. This is life-threatening. You cannot handle this alone.” The walls closed in on me. I stumbled out of his office, the paper in my hand crumpling under my grip. I called Daniel. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone. “Daniel… we need to talk.” He sighed heavily. “What is it now?” I swallowed hard. “I’m pregnant.” Silence. Then a laugh. A cruel, bitter laugh. “Pregnant? With what? Do you know what you’re saying?” “Twins, Daniel. The doctor said—” “Shut up,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare say that to me. That’s not possible.” I froze. “What do you mean it’s not possible?” “I’ve been on supplements for months. Supplements that kill sperm. I can’t get anyone pregnant. And twins? Are you hearing yourself?” His words sliced deeper than any knife. “I’m not lying. I just came from the hospital—” “Then it’s not mine.” His voice was final. Cold. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know you? Go and meet the man who got you pregnant.” My mouth went dry. “Daniel, please. You’re the only one—” “Don’t ever call me again.” Click. The line went dead. I stared at my phone, trembling, the doctor’s words echoing in my head. Ectopic. Dangerous. Life-threatening. And Daniel’s voice echoing louder. Not mine. Don’t ever call me again. The walls of my room felt like they were closing in. My chest burned but still no tears came. I pressed the phone against my forehead, shaking, choking, but dry. My father was gone. My boyfriend had abandoned me. My body was carrying a death sentence. And for the first time, I realized—I had no one. That night, lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, my phone buzzed again. I grabbed it with shaky hands, praying it was Daniel calling back. It wasn’t. A message from an unknown number. “You think your life is falling apart? It’s only just starting.” I froze. My breath caught. And for the first time since my father died, I felt something sharp crawl under my skin—fear.