When The Chains Fell

°~•Cold•×•

Abigail's POV

I never imagined I would truly understand the weight of duty, not until my wedding night.

I wasn’t completely ignorant. I knew what a wedding night meant, what would be expected of me. But knowing didn’t make me any less scared. I sat on our bed, feeling my life no longer my own, placed entirely at the mercy of the man now called my husband.

His eyes, full of desire, moved over my small frame and made all my insecurities feel heavier. Inside me, a small bit of hope shook, quietly asking God to save me from what was about to happen.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t think I ever could

The months after that passed in a sad, blurry routine. I cleaned, cooked, took care of the child, and did everything a husband I barely knew wanted. I moved through my life like a shadow, each day reminding me of the life that had been forced on me.

Eventually, I stopped resisting. Hope faded first… then faith followed.

I stopped praying.
I stopped hoping.
I stopped believing.

And in the calm of those nights, when even tears felt useless… I realized I had lost my faith entirely.

It was another morning of one of those blank days, I was in the kitchen again, making breakfast for my husband then I heard a knock on the door.

I placed the bread in the toaster and went to check who was at the door.

I looked through the peep hole and saw my mother standing on the other side with an impatient look.

I opened the door and she walked in.

"You've been so hard to reach these past few weeks. Come on, we have a lot to talk about." She said in a rushed tone and headed towards the living room.

"Mama, what's this about?" I asked, not liking how she just barged in.

A part of me still resented my parents for how my life turned out. After I married professor Dalu, I completely cut off ties with them, refusing to pay them a visit or even give them a call.

My mom came here once in a while to see me, but I always gave her the cold shoulder. She knew but still came anyways, and acted like everything was alright.

She'd give me small talks on how to be a good wife and mother, and go on and on about how I should keep following God diligently and never lose faith.

But what she didn't know was that I had lost it already.

My father was the worst. He never showed up, I last saw him at the market by chance when I had gone out to buy food stuff.

He didn't smile at me, or the least seem happy to see me. This was the only thing he said to me.

"You look more radiant now that you're living a luxurious life. You are one of the luckiest girls in all of this town, now."

After he made that statement, I started to doubt if he was actually my father. How could a father say such to his child? Was that the kind of love Christ encouraged?

Back to the present, my mother was busy skimming through the pictures hanging on the wall.

"Your wedding picture is starting to loose its glow, you should go get it polished." She said and turned to me.

"What do you want, mama?" I asked her, completely uninterested.

"Oh come on, don't be like that to your mother. Where's your husband by the way?" She asked, looking around.