ARÍRE (We Have Seen Goodness)

Dis One No Be Child, Na Pikin Hin Be

Author Note:
It is almost three o'clock in the tender hours before dawn, and for the past two hours, my fingers have danced furiously over my phone. It is strange how inspiration flows in the stillness of the night, like the juice of an horny woman. Perhaps it is the whisper of the night that coaxes the words out of me. Ah, the musings of a night writer. Anyways, happy reading, my loves.❤🤗

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"Madam, congratulations," the white-haired doctor said. A dizzying rush hit me as I struggled to comprehend his words.

I don't want this congratulations, I don't want... I panicked inside, no words coming out, but my whole existence crumbled with those words.

"Madam! Madam!" the doctor called my name, bringing me out of my reverie.

For the past few days, I had been feeling somehow... off. It started with nausea in the mornings, a queasy feeling that wouldn't go away. I tried to brush it off as stress or maybe something I ate.

I had woken up early again this morning, my stomach churning as if I'd eaten something bad. I staggered to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, hoping it would help. It didn't. The nausea was relentless. As I stood there, gripping the edge of the sink, the realization that something was wrong gripped me.

Later that morning, I found myself in the kitchen, frying eggs for breakfast before leaving for the clinic. The smell hit me like a wave, and I gagged, barely managing to keep myself from throwing up. Ikenna walked in, already dressed for work, and gave me a puzzled look.

"Are you okay, Arire?" he asked, his tone distant.

I was surprised to hear him talking to me. Maybe, after all, there was still the Ikenna I knew in him.

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just feeling a bit off."

He nodded, not pressing the issue, and took his black office bag before he made his way out of the house. "Ikenna, have a nice day at work," I said softly, but I knew he barely heard me. He was already engrossed in his phone as he left.

The hours dragged by as I waited for my doctor's appointment, my anxiety growing with each passing minute. When the time finally came, I felt a mix of relief and dread.

The doctor's office was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like everyone could hear your thoughts. When the nurse called my name, I took a deep breath and followed her to the examination room.

"Madam, what seems to be the problem?" the white-haired doctor with the name tag Dr. Kingsley asked, his kind eyes searching mine.

"I've been feeling nauseous and tired for weeks. I'm not sure what's wrong," I admitted, my voice trembling.

After a series of questions and tests, Dr. Kingsley returned with a serious expression. "Madam, congratulations, you're pregnant."

Pregnant. The word hung in the air, heavy and surreal. "Pregnant?" I echoed, my heart pounding.

"Yes, you're about eight weeks along," he confirmed, offering a small smile. "Congratulations."

But I don't want this congratulations. A child from a product of rape, a child that's not Ikenna's, a child of a man with a jagged scarred face, a child of a useless armed robber. I don't want this child.

I mumbled a small thank you to Dr. Kingsley, my mind reeling. Eight weeks. That meant only one thing-the baby was from that night.

Ikenna and I had not had sex for two months. Ikenna had been on a primary assignment to Port Harcourt for two weeks and had only returned a night before our anniversary. That night, nothing had happened. Even when Ikenna had boasted on the phone that when he returned from his trip to Port Harcourt, he was going to have me all sprawled on the bed as he made love to me all night because of how much he missed my body. But that night, we ended up sleeping with the intention of making our anniversary night very special.

I felt the room spinning and I clutched the edge of the examination table for support. How could this be happening?

"Since you are two months along, I would suggest you register for antenatal care," Dr. Kingsley said.

Children are gifts from God. This was a gift that I have always prayed for, a gift from God that I looked forward to. But why does this gift have to come this way? I sobbed softly. Has God forsaken me? I have done nothing wrong but praise His name, serve Him, and worship Him with all my heart. Did I truly deserve this? Did I?

"Is anything wrong, madam? I mean, it's good news, or is it not?" Dr. Kingsley queried.

"I'm fine, doc. Thank you," I said, grabbing my bag and standing up to leave.

"Just a moment, madam," Dr. Kingsley said. "I don't really know what's going on with you, but I have a word of advice for you. Remember the words of God where He says, 'Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.' (Joshua 1:9, ESV). So be strong and know that God is with you always."

Dr. Kingsley's words resonated with me, and I gave him a weak smile. "Thank you so much, doctor. I will keep that in mind."

I left the doctor's office in a daze, my thoughts a whirlwind of fear and confusion. I needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand. I unzipped my black purse and brought out my phone to call Titi and asked if I could come over. She could hear the panic in my voice and agreed immediately.

When I arrived at Titi's house, she pulled me into a tight hug. "What's wrong, Arire?"

"I'm pregnant," I blurted out, tears streaming down my face.

Titi's eyes widened in shock. "Pregnant? What... I mean, really? God, I'm so excited for you, Arire...but!" She paused as she took hold of my face. "Why the tears? Aren't you happy? Isn't this what you and Ikenna have always prayed for?"

"It's...it's..." I buried my face in my hands as I hiccupped.

"Talk to me, Arire. You are scaring me. What's going on?" she asked, panicking.

"Titi, the pregnancy is from th...the..." I couldn't bear to say it out loud, fearing I might choke on my words.

"Wait, I hope it's not what I'm thinking. God, please don't let it be true," she said, looking at me while I nodded my head like an agama lizard, confirming her suspicion.

"How far along are you?"

"About eight weeks," I whispered, my voice breaking. "It is from that night, Titi. The night..."

Titi's face crumpled, and she started crying too. We sat on her couch, holding each other and crying together. The pain and fear were overwhelming.

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