Why Late Sister Warned Me to Leave Husband Before Killing Me

There was silence in the house. The silence was such that you could hear your own heartbeat. It was around three in the morning. I recall the voice because I had just rolled over to see what time it was on my Kabambe phone. Her voice was heard. “Toka, Serah. Kufa usingoje. Unambiguous. Gentle. Joyce was the one.

My sister. Three years ago, we buried that person—the person who had cautioned me against getting married to Patrick. My chest constricted. I was having trouble breathing.

In bed, I sat up. Patrick looked away while snoring. Like someone battling in a dream, his hand was twitching. I wanted to think it was a bad dream. But I knew deep down that it was true. That was not an external voice.

It originated within the walls. within me. Joyce was standing next to the wardrobe, and I could feel her. Even the scent of her old lotion reached me.

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