PIECE OF ME

HURT

CHAPTER 5

The day they discharged me from the hospital felt wrong. Too fast. Too sudden. Like I had been thrown out of a place where my pain was visible into a world that preferred me to cover it up and pretend it wasn’t there.

Isaac walked me out, his hand brushing mine once in a while, not enough to comfort me, not enough to push me away either. The nurses gave me that fake smile, the type people use when they don’t want to get involved. One of them avoided my eyes when she handed me my file, almost like she knew something I didn’t.

The air outside hit me hard. It wasn’t fresh. It smelled of dust, fuel, roasted corn, sweat — Port Harcourt air. Everything loud, busy, careless. The opposite of the small ward I had been stuck in, where at least the walls pretended to care about my silence.

My chest tightened when Isaac waved down a taxi. He carried my bag like it weighed nothing. I wanted to snatch it from him, but my body was weak. My legs shook when I tried to step into the car, and he held my arm, steadying me.

“Careful, Uche,” he said softly.

That was the problem. Everyone was careful with me now. Careful with their words, careful with their eyes. Except Daniel. He was blunt, sharp, unbothered.

As the taxi rattled through the streets, Isaac tried small talk. Something about church. Something about how the hospital bills had been handled faster than he expected. I didn’t respond. My head pressed against the window, watching the blurred buildings pass by.

In my bag, my phone buzzed again and again. I didn’t need to check. Daniel.

He had sent sixty thousand naira earlier for the bills. I hadn’t touched it. I hadn’t even replied to his messages. He probably thought I was playing the ungrateful victim. Maybe I was. Maybe he was right. But I couldn’t bring myself to say thank you. Not after he told me to my face that the baby wasn’t his. Not after he mocked me with that ₦5,000 transfer, as if that was the price of my dignity.

“Do you want me to stay with you when we get to your place?” Isaac asked. His voice had that gentleness that didn’t match his eyes. His eyes stayed too sharp, like he was studying me.

“No.” My reply was quick, flat.

He nodded like he understood, but he didn’t. Nobody could.

By the time we reached my street, my stomach hurt from the rough ride. Isaac carried my bag inside the compound and placed it at my door. He hesitated, waiting for something. I didn’t give it. I unlocked the door, stepped in, and shut him out with a quiet “Thank you.”

Silence. My house was too silent.

The last time I had been there, I was rushing to answer the mortuary call. My father’s voice was still inside these walls, even though he was gone. His laughter. His footsteps. His habit of clearing his throat before he spoke. All of it lived here, stronger than me.

I dropped on the bed. The sheets smelled stale. My abdomen throbbed with every movement. My eyes burned, but no tears came. I hadn’t cried since he died. Not at the mortuary, not in the hospital, not after surgery. It was like my body refused me that release.

The phone buzzed again.

Daniel: You saw the alert? At least reply.

Daniel: Don’t start acting like a child.

Daniel: You’re welcome. Since you can’t say it yourself.

I wanted to throw the phone against the wall, but I didn’t. I turned it face down and lay there, counting the cracks on the ceiling.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. My mind was empty one second and crowded the next. My dad’s face. The doctor’s voice. Daniel’s denial. Steph’s silence. Isaac’s shadowy loyalty.

My body was healing, but my life wasn’t.

Later in the evening, I forced myself to eat garri with groundnut, the only thing left in the kitchen. It tasted bitter, no matter how much sugar I added. Every swallow scratched my throat. I gave up halfway.

I wanted to talk to Steph. My fingers hovered over her contact. Best friend, sister, confidant. At least that’s who she used to be. I typed: Where are you? I need you. Then I deleted it. What if she ignored me again? What if she had already chosen her side?

That thought burned.

I curled up on the bed, clutching my abdomen, waiting for sleep. But sleep didn’t come. Shadows stretched across my wall as the bulb flickered. Outside, the neighborhood noise rose — generators humming, children crying, loud music two compounds away. Still, the silence inside pressed heavier than all that sound.

At some point, I must have drifted off.

When I opened my eyes, the room was dark. The bulb had died. The only light came from the street outside, sliding thin through the curtain. My throat was dry. My head was heavy. And then I felt it — the presence.

I wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t Isaac. It wasn’t Daniel. It wasn’t Steph. I couldn’t explain how I knew. But I knew. Someone had been here.

My bag was where I left it. My phone was still on the table. Nothing obvious was missing. But the air felt disturbed, like someone had been standing too close, breathing too near.

I sat up slowly, clutching my stomach. My ears strained. Silence. And then — movement. A shadow across the door. Not from outside. From inside.

I froze.

The knob turned slightly, then stopped. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would tear through my chest.

A voice, low, almost a whisper, seeped through the gap.

“If she dies… it’s on him.”

My breath caught. Male. Familiar. I couldn’t place it.

I scrambled for my phone, but by the time I looked up, the shadow was gone. The door was still locked from the inside.

I was alone.

Or at least I was supposed to be.