The Reward for Wickedness: I Can Never Stop Paying for Murdering My Own Daughter [CONCLUDING PART]

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 I told Donlisa that Kiki was my niece who lived with my mother all her life and I felt it was my job to continue from where my mother had stopped. He accepted her with open arms and she continued to call me “Aunty” and did all the house chores.

        But with time she began to feel that she was being treated unjustly in my house. She approached me one day and began to ask funny questions.

“Mummy, why are you ashamed of me” Mummy why can’t I go to the same school with them Hayaz?”

        “Shut up” I barked looking around to make sure no one was near. “Now get out of my sight, idiot”

        From that very moment, I began to scheme on how to eliminate my own daughter. I began to feed her with arsenic-a slow working poison and within 3 months, she was bed ridden in hospital but that didn’t deter me. Instead, I continued to put the chemical in her food till she died.

        To say I was relieved at her death would have been putting it lightly. I would’ve thrown a party if given the opportunity, I had gotten rid of my deepest secret or so I thought. I guess I had celebrated too soon.

        “Was Kiki your daughter?” my husband asked two weeks after her death waving a letter in the air. “Tell me now, was she your daughter?” he asked again, trying so hard to control the rage welling up in him. He looked at me with pure hatred in his eyes.

        “Honey, there must be some misunderstanding somew…”

        “Here read this,” he commanded, cutting me short. “It was found under her hospital mattress and when you are through, I want you to pack your things and leave my house. You wicked witch.”

        He flung the letter at me and walked out of the house. With shaky hands, I picked up the letter from the floor and began to read. It was addressed to me.

        Dear Mother,

        I just want you to know that I love you so much. I know I have caused you so much shame and embarrassment and I am sorry. Please forgive me. I am only a victim of circumstances – born by mistake. I didn’t beg to be born at all even thought you took out your anger and frustrations on me. Don’t get me wrong mother – I don’t hate you. It must have been pretty hard for you to find a suitable role for me to play in your house and I hold nothing against you for that.

        Once again, I love you mother. Please don’t cry for me. I am better off where I am going and I want you to hold on to the ‘few’ happy moments we share together.

        Kikilolo.

I broke down and wept like a baby for two hours and when Donlisa returned and still found me in the house, he threw me out without allowing me have even a change of clothes.

        All my friends have deserted me and with no one to turn to.

        Begging was my only resort. Thanks to my greed and stupidity, I have lost everything, my home, family, happiness and peace. Everything I did not know how to begin my life again. I picked my WASC and began to look for job. I have walked all the streets of Lagos but could not get a job. Not even the job of a messenger. No vacancy was the reply I got in all the places I went. When hunger nearly took my life, I took to begging on the streets. It’s been extremely difficult but I have no choice. No one could believe that the woman now begging at the bus stop was once living an opulent life. In the innermost recesses of my mind, I know that I’m suffering for the inhuman manger I treated my own child.