When I was five years old, Uncle would often tell me to sit on his lap, and I would eagerly climb onto his leg to swing with it. At the time, I perceived it as innocent play, unaware of his ulterior motives.

I first met Uncle in my parents’ house. Even though he was a driver, I considered him a part of our family, addressing him as “uncle”. My father, trusting him implicitly, had hired him when he was single, unaware of the atrocities Uncle was capable of committing.

A distant family member introduced Uncle to my father when he expressed the need for a driver. Since then, Uncle had become an integral part of our family. He even drove my father to the wedding venue on his special day and somehow won my mother’s heart.

My name is Violet Inniọgbong, and I grew up with a silver spoon, never knowing hunger or suffering. While my father worked as a medical doctor and my mother as a branch manager in a leading Nigerian bank, I lacked their attention.

I was chauffeured to school in my father’s black-tinted Prado Jeep and was cared for by our nanny, driver, and gatekeeper whenever my parents were absent, which was often the case.

I saw our domestic staff as siblings because I had none, but I didn’t understand the impact of their actions until I grew older. Upon celebrating my 15th birthday, I began to realize the daunting and emotionally draining nature of some of their behaviors. I remember attempting to explain Uncle’s actions to my mother, but I never found the opportunity to express myself fully, as she was always preoccupied with her laptop, phone calls, or rushing off to work.

Uncle would often park my father’s car on a lonely road and used his fingers to penetrate my female region after which he will warn me never to tell anyone. The first time he did it was when I was around five years old. Instead of dropping me off at school as usual, he parked on a deserted road and claimed he wanted to show me something while I sat in the front seat with him.

He asked me to take my skirt up and close my eyes.

“It will not hurt you fine girl, I will be gentle with you my princess ” He said slowly as he was dragging my skirt up while acting in some usual way. He used his hands to penetrate through my female region, which gave me peppery sensation. I was not comfortable with what he was doing but I could not reject or fight back. I sat down and watch him work on my body helplessly.

Afterward, he produced a mango from his bag, offering it to me to eat. He cautioned me to keep our encounter a secret and promised me more mangoes whenever I desired, along with assurances of treating me well. I nodded in agreement, clutching the mango tightly while wrestling with inexplicable feelings within me.

Thus began a disturbing routine, and unwittingly, I found myself developing a misguided affection for these encounters.


I always acted in funny ways around him, even when my parents were nearby, but they never seemed to notice. Despite my attempts to guide his hands to inappropriate places, their attention remained elsewhere.

Uncle persisted in his unsettling behavior, always rewarding me with gifts afterward. Over time, I grew accustomed to this routine, eagerly anticipating each school day’s end when he would pick me up, continuing where we left off that morning.
This routine persisted until my tenth birthday, when he showered me with numerous gifts and seated me on his lap, rubbing my back and discreetly brushing against my rear.

I relished his touch; it felt comforting and familiar. “You’re a big girl now; I’ll teach you something special soon,” he whispered mischievously. Intrigued, I innocently inquired about his intentions.

“Will you accompany me to retrieve daddy’s clothes from the dry cleaner?” he proposed. Eager to explore, I begged my father’s permission, pleading with my mother for approval. Despite their initial reluctance, I eventually convinced them.

As we embarked on the errand, Uncle promised to unveil his lesson on the following school day. However, I insisted on an immediate demonstration.
During our journey, he indulged me with a large bowl of ice cream. As we returned home, he detoured onto a deserted street, coaxing me to the back seat of the car. There, he subtly prepared me for what was to come, praising my maturity and likening the experience to sweetness beyond compare.

“Do you want to try?” he queried. Without hesitation, I acquiesced. Although warned of potential discomfort, I remained resolute in my desire.

Upon his intrusion, I experienced a sharp pain, almost biting him inadvertently. Offering solace, he consoled me with ice cream, assuring that subsequent encounters would be less painful.

Cleaning me with his singlet, he discarded the evidence as we journeyed home. Exiting the vehicle, I felt overwhelmed, nearly fainting. Concerned, Uncle urged me to remain composed, cautioning against disclosing our secret to my parents, lest dire consequences befall us.

His warning left me stunned and scared. I walked briskly to my room and went straight to the bathroom as he had instructed.


I struggle to my room and went to the bathroom as he suggested, and went to bed straight.

I was aware when mom came to check up on me, but I pretended to be fast asleep so she wouldn’t discover what had happened to me. Despite feeling mild pain and discomfort, I remained still, avoiding raising suspicion.

After that first night, his actions became routine. He would take me to secluded areas just to satisfy his desires, and afterward, he would clean some whitish substance from my body and instruct me not to tell anyone. Eventually, he started professing his love for me, claiming that his actions were driven by his affection for me.

I believed him and found enjoyment in everything he did. My innocent mind perceived him as a caring person, and I thought his actions were acceptable. I placed complete trust in him without question. Can you blame me? After all, I was just a child.

When I turned 15 years old, I began to realize that what he was doing was inappropriate. Despite my efforts to resist, I found myself continuously meeting him.

There was a time when a senior caught me trying to lure a junior male student to the toilet. He threatened to tell our principal, but after begging and tears, he promised not to disclose and also made me swear not to attempt such act again.

I didn’t attempt it at school, but Uncle Saviour always found his way whenever he was driving me to and from school in my father’s tinted Prado jeep.

There were times I felt uneasy about the situation, but I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t understand why I was doing what I was doing; I just found myself lost in it.

Uncle Saviour do not usually have his way with me in our home, but one Friday noon, he promised to get me something while returning from dropping Dad at the airport. Dad was traveling for a meeting with some top doctors in the United state of America, so he had to travel out of the country.

When Uncle Saviour returned, he asked me to come to his quarters to receive the item. I went to his quarters to collect whatever he had gotten. immediately he jammed the door he began to fondle my breast.

” Uncle stop, somebody might see us” I said.
“Hmm, you know about what we are doing?” He asked, he was shocked that I was conscious of being seen in the act.
“Have you been talking to anyone about this?” he queried.
“No” I replied timidly.
“Hope nobody has been touching you here?” he asked while pointing towards my feminine region.
“Nooo” I exclaimed.
“Good, do not allow anyone there. It is for me alone” he said.
I nodded abstractedly.

He dragged me to his bed that is suited on the floor and began his act when the door flung wide open by


Musa our gate man was the one who opened the door. He appeared shocked and immediately moved to attack Saviour. However, Saviour skillfully evaded the blow and urged Musa to calm down.

“Na she say she want am,” he said.

“This small girl, kia mana,” Musa retorted,

“No be small girl oh” he said, shifting the blame onto me. At this point, I was crying and begging him not to tell my parents.

Saviour was convincing him that it was the first time he would try it with me and pleaded with him to keep the secret. Musa sat down on the bed and said he would keep quiet on one condition.

“What do you want?” Saviour asked, while I was in tears, feeling physically and emotionally drained.

“You go give me wetin you dey give am” he turned towards my direction and said with a sheepish smile which exposes his damaged teeth caused by kolanut

I looked at him wishing he will choose another punishment. I looked at him hoping he will see I never consented to this, but all of my sorrowful looks were met with a lustful eye. the way he was staring at my half naked body and exposing his damaged teeth shows that he had no atom of compassion in him.

I couldn’t object; I stood at the door, waiting for the two men to decide my fate. I watched them deliberate on how they would take turns with me and who would ‘own’ me on which day of the week. I felt like running, but I couldn’t afford to let Musa tell my parents about what I was doing with Uncle Saviour.

Uncle Saviour asked me to lie down on the bed that he will be outside watching for us. That was how Musa started having his way with me. They already planned and scheduled me; all they have to do is tell me where to wait and I will wait for the person whose turn is that day.

One time, I fell ill while my father was away. A female doctor who worked at my father’s hospital attended to me. During her examination, she asked numerous questions about my symptoms.

“Are you sexually active?” she asked

I was clueless of what the word sex was, or what sexually active meant at the time so my mother interjected.

“She doesn’t know what that means; just prescribe drugs so we can leave. I’m rushing off to work, and besides, she’s still too young to be involved in such a conversation.” My mother harshly responded.

“I do not think she is too young for sex education ma” She calmly replied..

You won’t doubt my motherly role. Please write down some drugs for her,” my mom insisted. The doctor explained that I needed to undergo some tests, but my mom told her that I had an infection and that she didn’t have much time to wait for the testing process. As a result, I was given medication, and antibiotics cream to apply to my affected area.

When I got home, I began taking the medication while trying to avoid Musa or Saviour. Despite my efforts, two days of staying indoors didn’t deter Musa from visiting my room. Although he acted concerned about my health, I sensed his ulterior motive and felt irritated by his presence.

“How you dey?” he asked

“fine” I responded. nonchanlantly.

“As I no see you, I say make I check on you” he said, using his left hand to rub his groin area, ensuring that I noticed it.

“Leave my room!” I shouted.


“Why na fine girl, anybody offend you?” He asked.

“Musa leave” I commanded Musa to leave immediately, and he complied after offering a sarcastic apology.

Feeling filthy, anguished, and deeply disturbed by everything, all I yearned for was to converse, inquire, and ease my mind.

I waited for Mom to return that day before inquiring about the topic, sexually active. She reassured me not to worry about it, promising that she would explain when the time was right.

“But I want to know now, Mom,” I objected.

“I’m exhausted at the moment. We’ll talk later, my dear. Have you taken your medication?” she asked.

I didn’t respond but went straight to my room to cry. I couldn’t quite articulate why tears flowed, but the overwhelming emotions were inexplicable. I felt uncomfortable with everything happening, and even my own skin felt irritated and overwhelmed.

I got better and was ready to resume school, but I knew that having Uncle Saviour drop me off would likely lead to me being involved in things I didn’t understand or fully agree with. I tried to plead with my parents not to let Uncle Saviour drive me, but my mom thought I was just anxious about returning to school after staying home for two weeks. Unfortunately, all my pleas fell on deaf ears, and I ended up going to school with Uncle Saviour.

During the car ride, he attempted to touch my legs, but I shifted my body away and edged closer to the car door.

“Why are you avoiding me, princess?” he asked, trying to force his hand into my gown.

“Stop,” I calmly said.

“Why, don’t you like me anymore?” he pressed on.

I didn’t respond but continued to move towards the door, causing the car to sway as he persisted in touching me. Finally realizing that his driving was being affected, he stopped and asked again,

“Why are you running from me?” I kept my gaze fixed on the road, clutching my gown tightly.

Upon arriving at school, I hurried to my classroom, eager to escape Uncle Saviour’s presence before he could change his mind or cause any further trouble. However, throughout the day, I found it difficult to concentrate, and my teacher eventually asked what was wrong. I assured her I was fine, but the encounter with Uncle Saviour weighed heavily on my mind.

After school, he managed to sweet-talk and bribe me into letting him have his way once again. I couldn’t understand why I gave in, but my body and emotions betrayed me. When I returned home, as usual, nobody noticed the turmoil I was going through.


The assault, pain, and trauma persisted without reprieve. They took turns, and Grandma’s house became my only sanctuary. Despite my fondness for visiting there during holidays or weekends, my mum often rejected the idea, attributing it to Grandma spoiling me.

At Grandma’s, I developed affection for a guy slightly older than me. I admired everything about him. He would assist Grandma with errands and join us in the kitchen during cooking sessions.

I used to be shy around him until the day we went to get something for Grandma, and I realized he was a free-spirited person. We became close, and I hoped he would ask me to be his girlfriend before my long vacation came to an end. Fortunately, he did, and I immediately accepted. With excitement, I began to move closer to him, hoping to initiate something similar to what I had experienced with Musa and Uncle Saviour. However, he seemed reluctant and kept dropping my hands.

“Please stop, Grandma might walk in,” he said calmly while gently moving my hands away from his body. I tried to convince him that we would be quick, but his expression showed how shocked he was.

We went back and forth until I gave up, and we ended up just talking about school stuff. His name was Josiah, and I longed to see him at Grandma’s place. However, after that incident, he stopped visiting Grandma’s house as frequently as before. So, I decided to visit his house, which he had shown me during one of the days we were running errands.

He didn’t seem pleased to see me, so I spoke up, “I was worried, which is why I came. You don’t look happy to see me.”

“No, no, no, it’s just that my parents don’t appreciate us being too close to the opposite sex. They’ll scold me if they see you acting in ways that suggest we’re in love, which would mean I’m doomed,” he explained.

“I can go if you want me to,” I replied, feeling tears welling up.

“I would appreciate it if you left. I’ll come to your house,” he said respectfully.

Feeling disheartened, I left, almost in tears.

I got to Grandma’s house to wait for him, but he never showed up. Josiah didn’t come for almost four days, and I couldn’t visit due to our last encounter.


I found myself torn between visiting him or waiting for him to come to me. While I longed to see him, I hesitated, not wanting to stir up any trouble. As days passed without his appearance, I grew close to a guy who consistently greeted me warmly while I ran errands for my grandma. His compliments on my attire brightened my day, making those errands something to anticipate.

One scorching noon, while I was out running errands, he stopped me as usual, but this time, he engaged me in a lengthier conversation.

“You’re always in a hurry. Wouldn’t you like to visit before you go?” he inquired.

“I’d love to, but I can’t stay too long. My grandma would worry,” I replied.

“I’ll keep it brief, just enough for you to get a sense of my place. You’re always welcome,” he reassured me.

“Okay, tell me where it is, but I won’t come in today,” I stated firmly.

“Fair enough,” he replied. As we made our way to his apartment, which wasn’t far from grandma’s house, I promised to drop by when I had some free time.

Even as I tried to move on, a part of me still longed for Josiah and wished things could return to how they used to be. One afternoon, when Grandma was away for a meeting, I decided to take the opportunity to visit Christopher. That was his name. I dressed in black jeans and a crop top, paired with sneakers to complete the look.

As I knocked on the door, it was opened by another guy who seemed surprised, thinking I was at the wrong house. I apologized, saying, “I’m sorry, I thought this was Christopher’s house.”

“Yes, it is. I’m his friend. Chris, an angel is here to see you,” he called out to Christopher, turning back to me.

Christopher’s enthusiastic greeting caught me off guard. “Wow, look who we have here.”

Blushing, I kept my gaze on his shoulders, trying to compose myself. “Please come in,” he directed, leading me into the living room. It wasn’t as lavish as my home, but it was a comfortable space for a single guy.

He offered me cookies, chocolate, and a drink as we settled in to watch movies with his friend.

As we watched the movie, it reached a scene where the lead actor was kissing his lady, and I began to feel uneasy. Without realizing it, I started getting too close to Christopher, placing my hand on his lap. He touched it softly, sending chills through my body. Before I knew it, we were making out.

Afterwards, I felt too ashamed to leave his house. I sat there, waiting to see if his friend would leave first, but he never did. It wasn’t until Grandma kept calling my phone nonstop that I finally mustered the courage to leave.

“Let me have your number, baby. I’ll call you later. It was nice having you around today,” Christopher said as we reached his gate.

I gave him my number and then rushed home. When I got home, I lied and told Grandma I had gone to a program a friend in the neighborhood had invited me to.


He didn’t bother calling to check if I got home safely. Determined to see him the next day, despite Grandma’s disapproval of leaving the house, I waited, hoping for his call.

Two days later, he finally called, apologizing for his silence, citing a busy schedule. Without protest, I accepted his excuse.

He suggested we meet, mentioning he had downloaded some movies. I agreed to let him know when I was coming over. Throughout that day, he called intermittently, showering me with attention that I relished.

The following day, I seized an opportunity while Grandma napped after her meal of half-cooked vegetable soup and pounded yam. I stealthily made my way to his house, catching him off guard but visibly pleased. Unexpectedly, his friend was present.

I greeted with my head down, feeling uneasy in the presence of his friend but feeling compelled to stay. He offered me juice, cold water, groundnuts, and bananas. As we chatted and snacked, I asked him about the movie he had mentioned earlier.

“Oh, I forgot. Just a few minutes, please,” he replied, getting up to change the channel. The movie turned out to be intriguing.

While engrossed in the film, his friend suggested an even better one, promising our enjoyment. Excited and already feeling at ease, I relaxed. Then, unexpectedly, Christopher whispered in my ear, his eyes filled with seduction, “How about my friend and I have you while we watch the movie?”

Initially, I refused, but he persisted, assuring me it would be fun. Despite my reluctance and sincere desire not to participate, I found myself agreeing.

I endured their actions until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I could see the face of Uncle Saviour and Musa, feeling crushed by the weight of their advances. Tears streamed down my face as I screamed in anguish. Christopher hastily rose from my body, while his friend still clung to me. I forcefully pushed his hands away and stood up to leave.

Christopher made no attempt to stop me or address the situation. He simply went to drink some water, leaving me to collect myself. As I dressed to leave, the weight of guilt from the past and present overwhelmed me. Tears blurred my vision as I walked away, the pain echoing deep within me.


I grappled with the weight of regret, berating myself for actions beyond my control. Anger surged within me, fueled by frustration at my circumstances and the escalating turmoil. Torn and irritated by my own choices and existence, I trudged homeward, the persistent urge to flee gnawing at me.

Questions plagued my mind – where could I escape to? Who would provide for me? What about school? Despite these thoughts pulling me back, I found myself returning to Grandma’s house. I lacked the means and support to survive alone, grappling with my own identity and flaws.

Upon arriving home, Grandma confronted me, her voice raised above its usual gentle tone.

“Why do you defy my instructions? Why must you have a mind of your own?” she exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, Grandma,” I whispered through tears, wanting desperately to confide in her but finding myself unable to articulate my thoughts. Fear of my parents’ reaction and the repercussions silenced me.

Despite Grandma’s efforts to coax the truth from me, I remained mute, seeking solace in her embrace as tears streamed down my cheeks. She urged me to shower while she prepared my favorite omelet.

Christopher’s indifference weighed heavily on me. Each time I called, he responded with casual disinterest, leaving me feeling more vulnerable with each exchange.

“I just want to know how you’re doing,” I pleaded one day, sensing his reluctance to engage in conversation.

“Thanks, but I have visitors. Can we talk later?” he replied nonchalantly before abruptly ending the call, leaving my heart shattered once again. His behavior perplexed me, and I struggled to understand why I felt so exposed around him.

Fortuitously, that same day, Grandma sent me to fetch something from the street. Determined to see Christopher, I made a silent promise to myself. As I closed my gate to head towards his, my heart sank at the sight of him emerging with Josiah and his friends. I averted my gaze, wishing for the ground to swallow me whole.

Walking past them, I hoped to avoid any interaction, but Josiah halted me while Christopher chuckled and continued on. “How are you?” he inquired, oblivious to the tears welling in my eyes.

“Fine,” I replied curtly, avoiding his gaze to conceal my emotions.

“I’m sorry I stopped calling or visiting you,” he began, but I couldn’t bear to hear his explanation. Without waiting for him to finish, I fled in tears.

Returning with Grandma’s errand completed, I hastily packed my belongings, informing her of my desire to return home immediately. Though she pressed for answers, I remained silent, my mind consumed with thoughts of calling my mother.

“Is it because I scolded you, my baby?” Grandma asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“No, Grandma. I miss home. I just want to go,” I replied, wiping my tears.

My mother sent Uncle Saviour to pick me up. As I hugged Grandma goodbye, assuring her it wasn’t her fault, she whispered, “I love you,” before I settled into the backseat of the car.

We drove in silence until Uncle Saviour unexpectedly remarked, “It seems like you didn’t miss me.” Emotionally drained and hurt, I lacked the energy to engage in conversation, retreating into the silence of my thoughts.


“You don’t want to talk to me, princess?” he said, his words cutting through the silence of the car.

“I wanted you to sit in front so I could tell you how much I miss you.” I remained silent, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery of houses, trees, hawkers, and vehicles.

At the fuel station, he paused to refuel before purchasing some plantain chips and a drink for me. I accepted them reluctantly, munching on the snack slowly as he returned to the driver’s seat. He glanced at me through the window, asking if anything was wrong, but I remained mute, lost in my thoughts.

Finally, we arrived home. I hurriedly greeted my mum in her room, noticing my dad’s absence, likely away on a trip. I exchanged brief pleasantries with her, avoiding her questions about my unplanned return by claiming homesickness and the need for solitude. Retreating to my room, I succumbed to tears, seeking solace in sleep.

I tried to avoid Musa and Uncle Saviour for the remainder of my holiday, but Mum’s insistence forced me to inform Uncle Saviour that he would be taking us to her friend’s house in a few hours.

Reluctantly, I made my way to Uncle Saviour’s quarters, a sense of dread creeping over me as his voice echoed from behind the door. Uncertain of what would unfold, I hesitated before knocking.

“I’m here,” I replied hesitantly.

“Come in,” he responded, his voice calm.

I stepped inside, my heart pounding in my chest. As I entered, I noticed he had just emerged from the shower, with only a towel wrapped around him.

“Mum said we should get ready; we’re going out,” I said, my voice trembling, attempting to leave. But before I could, he moved swiftly, closing the distance between us and pinning me against the wall.

“Stop, I will shout” I said with frightening voice.

“I will then tell your mother you’ve been sleeping with Musa and me, a small girl like you,” he threatened.

“I never wanted to; you both forced me,” I replied, my voice almost breaking with emotion.

“Don’t cry, my princess. I love you. Since you started menstruating, you’ve changed,” he said softly.

“How do you know?” I asked, shocked by his revelation.

“I had to clean the car seat one noon after we returned from school. See, I love you. That’s why I’m taking care of you,” he continued in a calm voice, pressing his body against mine, trapping me against the wall.

“I have missed you, princess,” he whispered, his voice close to my ears, sending a shiver down my spine and igniting a sense of irritation and discomfort within me.

I can’t explain how it happened, but I allowed him to have his way with me again that day, contrary to the promise I made to myself. As I walked back to my room, a wave of guilt, irritation, and pain washed over me once again. I couldn’t help but wonder why these feelings never surfaced before the act; it always seemed to be after.

After allowing that day, he resumed having his way with me to and from school. I became addicted to him, to the point where I would sometimes ask him to take me somewhere else instead of school so we could spend time together. He tried to protect me from Musa as promised, leading me to believe that he loved me and that everything we were doing was born out of love.

This continued until I fell ill. My dad tried prescribing drugs for me, thinking it was just normal malaria or stress-related sickness, but I wasn’t getting better. Instead, I was losing weight, losing my appetite, and constantly feeling faint. My dad eventually took me to his clinic, where after a series of tests, it was discovered that I was four weeks pregnant.


For the first time in my life, my father paid full attention to me. He drove us home in silence, and when we arrived, I saw Uncle Saviour washing Mom’s car.

Mom was already crying, and as we stepped out of the car, she grabbed my hand and rushed me inside.

Dad followed, locking the door and taking off his belt, threatening me to reveal who was responsible for my pregnancy. I didn’t fully grasp the seriousness of the situation. I couldn’t understand why everyone was crying and shouting.

I stood there, confused by my father’s anger, unable to comprehend why he demanded to know the father of my unborn child. Sitting on the couch, I watched their expressions, hoping for some clue. But seeing my father so furious only confused me the more.

“Who is the father of your baby? Talk now before I kill you—” He screamed, and I jerked from my seat.

“Who?” I asked absentmindedly.

“What is she saying? What is your child saying, woman?” He faced my mum.

“I do everything because of you. I sacrifice, work so hard, do everything because of you and your future. And this is how you pay me back. Sixteen years old, daughter of Chief Doctor Joseph Inniọgbong’s daughter, is pregnant” He continued, wailing as he paced up and down.

When he went to our mini bar to grab his favorite drink, Hennessy, Mom came to where I was seated.

“Violet, you’ve shattered my heart, utterly devastated me. Your father’s family will mock me, saying they urged him to marry someone who could give him a son, yet he remained with me, even though I can only give him one child. Why, Violet? We’ve toiled endlessly to ensure you have a good life. How can we endure this shame? What will become of your schooling, your dreams, your aspirations? You once dreamed of becoming a doctor. How can that happen now, Violet?” she said through tears.

Even though I couldn’t fully comprehend the situation, I could sense that my parents were deeply hurt.

“Who is the father” he asked with a loud voice.

“Daddy, I don’t know,” I replied, trembling now as Dad’s voice echoed in the air.

“You don’t know?” that was all he said before hitting my face. The slap was so hot that it could fry an egg. my dad has never raised his hands to hit me before, but he did that day.

” Violet, talk. who have you been sleeping with, who have been touching you here” she said as she touches my hooters.

I became dead scared, my eyes went wide open, heart palpitation set in and at that moment it down on me that there is an issue.

“Talk before I injure you and treat you myself afterward” dad threatened.

“I’m sorry,” that was all I could say as I remorsefully cried.

“It’s not about being sorry, who is the father?” Mum interjected.

“I do not know, Mum,” I replied.

“How many people touched you?” She asked, showing concern.

I then explained everything, detailing what happened with Christopher and his friend.

After I finished narrating what happened, my mum began shaking profusely. Dad rushed towards her to get her stable. Despite Dad’s efforts at home, it wasn’t working, so he had to rush her back to the hospital.

Mom was admitted, and Dad had to send me to his brother’s house for me to stay pending when Mom gets better.


I stayed at my uncle’s place for a few days before Dad and Mum came to pick me up. I was grateful to still see Mum after the scare.

Upon returning home, things felt different. Musa and Uncle Saviour were nowhere to be seen, and I hesitated to ask about them. After dinner, I approached Mum as instructed, but as I neared, I could hear Mum and Dad shouting at each other.

“It’s because you failed to raise and monitor her that we’re in this mess. She’ll have to face the consequences,” Dad yelled.

“No, she won’t! She’s my child, my source of joy. What if something happens to her?” Mum screamed back at him.

“She won’t die. I’m here, monitoring her. There’s no way she’ll die under my watch,” Dad boasted.

“How will she carry a child when she has no clue who the father is? How can she be pregnant out of wedlock with no responsible man attached to her name?” Dad continued; his voice filled with frustration.

“We can fly her out of the country, please. Don’t let our child go through this. I never had an abortion, but conceiving was still hard for me. What will her fate be? What will the aftermath be? Please, let’s fly her. Don’t allow our baby to go through this,” Mum pleaded.

“No bastard will carry my blood, and my child will not bring shame to my name. My only child, no way!” Dad roared in anger.

The argument went back and forth until I could no longer hear Mum’s voice. I tried to sleep, but it eluded me. I had never seen my parents argue like this before.

Later in the evening, Dad and Mum came to my room.

“Violet, I want to tell you something,” Dad said.

I stood up and sat on the bed, looking at my mum and dad. Mum’s hands were folded between her legs as she sat on the bed in her nightie, while Dad arranged some medical equipment.

“I will be giving you an injection that will release you from pending troubles. It won’t be painful initially, but the pain will come later on. However, I’ll be here to help you. All I need is for you to tell me the gravity of the pain,” he said.

I nodded and accepted. I didn’t understand what it was, but I trusted my parents, so I let him inject me. He instructed me to wear my sanitary pad about thirty minutes after the injection.

The pain I felt was excruciating. I kept rolling on the floor, with Mum praying fervently beside me while Dad asked me questions.

It felt as if my soul was leaving my body due to the level of pain. I began to call for my mum, and she held me, repeating, “Lord, have mercy,” over and over again. Then, I began to feel blood dripping.

“Mummy, blood,” I said amidst tears.

“It’s fine, just relax. The pain will stop,” Dad reassured me.

He gave me a drug to take, then asked Mum to get a hot water bottle to compress my tummy and help ease abdominal cramping. He also instructed me to take a warm bath.

Mum helped me through the process, and after a week, I was getting better. However, our house was becoming quieter, and I could feel the cold war between my parents.

One evening, while watching a movie on my iPad, Mum and Dad came to let me know that I would be traveling to the United States for schooling and would be based there. I would go with Mum, and after I got settled in, she would come back while I stayed in the boarding school over there.

I wasn’t sure if I liked the idea, but since I had never lived my life on my own terms and home wasn’t fun anymore, I accepted.

Preparations for my departure went well. We went to Grandma’s house with my parents to bid her goodbye. When we got there, I saw Josiah explaining things he got for her from the market. Despite wanting to talk to him, I pretended not to know him, even though I wanted to tell him a lot of things. I was sure Christopher must have told him about me, and I never had the courage to open up to him. I just allowed us to act as strangers.

He gave Grandma everything and left. As he was leaving, I felt hurt, but there was nothing I could do. Josiah was the first man I ever wanted to be close to me, but we were from different worlds.


Before traveling, I took exams for the school I was to be admitted to, and luckily, I passed. Upon arriving in the United States with my mum, we stayed in one of our houses—a well-furnished three-bedroom with a small garden and a backyard we always used as a swimming pool whenever we traveled to the States. The house was always rented out unless we were visiting.

I enrolled in one of the best schools located on McDowell Street, USA. After settling in, my mum returned to Nigeria, and that’s when my new life began—a life I didn’t understand or have control over. I became timid, often keeping to myself. After classes, I’d retreat to my room or attend hall activities alone.

One day, during lunch in the hall, a famous group of five girls approached me—two black and three white. They sat close to me, which made me uncomfortable. As I tried to adjust, one of the fair girls gently stroked my back.

“Relax, girl,” she said, her American accent oozing out.

I sat down, uncertain of what they wanted or why they were even with me. These girls usually moved in cliques, and though two of them were in my class, they often disrupted lessons until one of them got suspended.

“What’s your name?” the white chubby girl asked.

“Violet,” I responded, wondering why they needed to know.

“Why are you always alone?” she pressed. I stayed silent.

“Are you always this dumb, or are you trying to get me angry?” she snapped, her hand forcefully stroking my head as the others laughed.

I remained mute as they took turns pulling my hair, tugging at my shirt, and the darkest one even kicked my leg. When I tried to stand up to leave, they held me down.

“Where do you think you’re going, to report us?” she sneered sarcastically.

“Nothing can be done, Violet,” she boasted.

Feeling helpless, I stayed seated, unsure of what to do. I’d never been in a fight or altercation before, so I was clueless about how to handle these bullies. They made me clean their rooms, fetch water, and even give them my snacks, warning me that any slip-up would result in their wrath.

This continued until one day when we went on a school excursion to the zoo with students from other schools. There, I encountered Hollian, one of the most handsome guys I’d ever seen.

His curly hair cascaded effortlessly, framing his face with a casual sophistication. Each strand danced in harmony with the breeze, adding a charming touch to his appearance. But it was his captivating eyes—an intense shade reminiscent of a feline’s gaze—that drew me in. His features were finely chiseled, exuding both strength and grace, with a subtle smile hinting at quiet confidence and inner warmth.

As soon as our eyes met, I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Unfortunately, before I could regain my composure, he noticed me and approached.

“Hi,” he said.

I was too stunned to respond, smiling back and forgetting I had to reply to his greeting.


“How do you do?” he asked with his polished Queen’s English, his accent was refined, his voice carrying an air of sophistication.

“Fine,” I muttered.

“Just fine? I’m Hollian Stone. And you?” he probed.

“I’m Violet,” I replied, my voice barely audible.

“Violet,” he echoed my name, infusing it with a beauty I’d never heard before. I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks as I hastily brushed away an imaginary speck from the corner of my eye, avoiding his intense gaze.

“I’m here with my school buddies. It’s a decent scene, but I’m not particularly interested,” he initiated a conversation.

“Why’s that?” I asked, intrigued.

“I detest school-related matters. They’re dreadfully dull,” he confessed.

“Not entirely,” I murmured absentmindedly, noticing a group of my school bullies approaching us.

“You enjoy school stuff?” he inquired.

“Yeah, if not for…” I trailed off as they drew near.

They came within earshot, and one of them leaned in close to me, whispering, “You’ve got yourself a fine catch,” she said, gripping my neck tightly.

Instantly, Hollian seized her hand, commanding her to apologize.

“Let go of me,” she demanded.

“What will you do if I don’t?” he challenged her.

“Release my arm, you’re hurting me,” she retorted.

“Listen, don’t try this with her again, you short bully,” Hollian warned firmly.

“What’ll you do if I do?” she shot back.

Holliann rolled up his sleeve, revealing a black small gun Undernet his polo. I saw fear flicker in her eyes as she glanced from his face to his short and back.

“Don’t ever try it again,” he commanded sternly.

She nodded and left with the other girl.

“Is this what you’ve been dealing with?” he asked, concern etched on his features.

I nodded silently.

“I’ll shield you from them. They won’t dare bother you again,” he vowed.

I thanked him, and we exchanged numbers before parting ways. Until then, my phone was merely a device for sporadic calls from my parents and mindless scrolling through social media. But since meeting Hollian, he became my constant companion, always calling, chatting, and laughing.

He filled the void of the sibling and confidant I’d longed for. His messages were the first thing I read in the morning and the last before I slept at night.

He was unwavering in his support, the most caring person I knew. Thanks to him, the bullies backed off, and I regained my freedom from their torment. I could attend events without the fear of serving them or being their target.

To me, Hollian was a guardian angel, and I entrusted him with my everything. When he proposed meeting up, I hesitated, fearing to sneak out. But he assured me he’d find a way.

I doubted if they’d let him into our hostel, but he assured me he had his methods. True to his word, he succeeded. He arrived with a friend, and the composed, laid-back Hollian I’d known transformed. He exuded authority and masculinity while retaining his charm.

Hollian was a vision of sophistication, the kind that made your heart skip a beat. His words were captivating, drawing you in deeper with every syllable.

He made every moment enjoyable, and after spending a few hours together, he asked if I’d like to go out on a date. I explained my restrictions, but he assured me he could arrange something. I acquiesced, and true to his word, he whisked me away from the school grounds, granting me a newfound sense of freedom as we strolled through the park, caught a movie, and visited his favorite hangout spots.

I relished every moment, and eventually, he took me to his home, introducing me to his friends. As I stepped inside, I was greeted by the scent of various drinks and smoke, all unfamiliar to me, prompting a fit of coughing.

He apologized, making room for me in his room, which bore signs of recent revelry, with bottles strewn about and remnants of smoke lingering in the air.

He cleared a space for me on the bed, promising to return shortly.

As I sat down, I surveyed the room, resembling a tornado’s aftermath.

He returned with a bottle, emanating the aroma of different smokes, and whispered, “Care to try some?”

Initially declining, I succumbed to his persistence and promise of enjoyment. Besides, I trusted him implicitly.

I took a sip, then another, and another, fueling his excitement and cheers. He’d lift me up and twirl me around after each drink, eliciting a sense of exhilaration. I felt weightless, craving more.

He urged me to try a puff of smoke. Though hesitant, he insisted, “I like my girl high. I like women who smoke.”

In a bid to please him, I took a drag, albeit clumsily. His laughter echoed in the room as he swayed slightly.

After the smoke, my memory became hazy. I awoke to find him asleep on the floor, while I lay on the bed, fully clothed.

Gazing at his bare chest, I felt a flutter in my heart. Descending from the bed, I nestled against him.

“Are you awake?” he murmured.

“Yes,” I whispered, sinking into his embrace.

He pulled me closer, and I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, the scent of smoke and alcohol fading against the sweetness of his presence.


He treated us to breakfast that morning, and a cleaner came by to tidy up the house before we left. We stocked the fridge with food and drinks for the rest of the day. As I was helping his friend Gravel arrange the items we bought, Hollian came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me.

“Do you really have to go back to school? Why not stay here with me and have some fun? I can take care of us,” he suggested.

The idea sounded tempting, but I hesitated. I was apprehensive about leaving school, uncertain if abandoning my studies for fun was the right choice. Yet, being with Hollian brought me a sense of happiness and comfort I hadn’t experienced in years.

“I have exams coming up soon. I love the idea, but I want to go to school,” I replied, leaning into his touch as we stood by the fridge.

“Why choose school when I can take care of us?” he questioned, his hands gently caressing my face.

“I don’t know what to say,” I confessed, meeting his gaze.

“Let me decide our fate, Violet,” he said, the way he spoke my name always stirring something within me.

I promised to think about it.

“Stay with me, baby,” he pleaded.

I agreed, and he bought me clothes, outfits that accentuated my figure and made me feel different.

During the time I spent at his house, we indulged in drinking, smoking, and partying hard. It was an exhilarating journey. We explored different places, sampled various cuisines, and he even taught me how to cook some traditional dishes his grandma used to make. I met almost all of his friends, but he kept his family hidden, promising I would meet them eventually.

One day, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon a post with my picture, wanted. I showed it to Hollian, and he assured me he would handle it. I didn’t question what he did, nor did I attempt to reconnect with my family. I was content with him, finding solace from past traumas and embracing a newfound life of freedom.

We were inseparable, except for when he had gang meetings or needed to attend to work, the nature of which I remained oblivious to.

We continued to revel in our freedom, love, and peace, enjoying a fulfilling sex life until I discovered I was pregnant. Hollian was the one who bought the pregnancy kit and guided me through the process. In the bathroom, we confirmed the news together, but I couldn’t discern his reaction—whether he was happy or sad.

Lost in uncertainty, I didn’t know whether to wait for him to approach me or seek him out myself. Unable to bear the suspense any longer, I found him laughing and smoking with his friends. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched him, feeling overwhelmed. When he noticed me, he abandoned his drink and rushed to my side.

Standing before him, I couldn’t hold back my emotions any longer. Tears flowed freely as I broke down, consumed by the need for reassurance and a promise of a stress-free future.


He took me by my hand, and we retreated to our room.

“What do you want?” he asked.

His question threw me off balance. I anticipated his excitement about our baby and the future we’d build together. Instead, his inquiry left me perplexed and uncertain. I remained silent, gazing at him, hoping for clarity.

“I’m sorry if my actions hurt you, but I don’t want a child. I can’t bear the thought of hating my own child or taking on the responsibilities of fatherhood,” he said, his tone growing agitated.

“But we can handle it together,” I suggested calmly, trying to reassure him. But my words only seemed to escalate his frustration.

“I can’t do it. I can’t be a father. I refuse to subject my children to the same pain I endured. I witnessed my father’s abuse towards my mother and me. I despised him until he claimed that my birth brought out the worst in him. He never wanted a child, and then I came along. My father has been a negative presence in my life. Every memory of him is tainted with pain and bitterness. I can’t subject my children to that,” he confessed, his anger palpable.

“I’m sorry, but I know you’d be an amazing father, Hollian,” I said softly.

“You don’t know me better than myself, Violet. I don’t want a baby. I’ll get you some drugs,” he said, attempting to leave.

“I don’t want more drugs. I can’t endure the pain again. I don’t want them,” I sobbed.

He paused, then approached, pinning me against the wall with a tight grip around my neck. “You had an abortion without telling me?” he demanded.

“I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. I was too young. It was a result of rape,” I confessed, pleading for him to release his hold. But my words only seemed to tighten his grip.

“Hollian, please let go of my neck,” I begged.

“How could you hide this from me? I thought you were young, innocent, naive, and foolish. But you knew exactly what you were doing. You’ve been deceiving me all along, haven’t you?” he accused, tears mingling with his rage.

“I never meant to hide it. I just wanted to forget about my past. I wanted to move forward with you because you bring me peace,” I explained, tears streaming down my face.

“I hate you. How could you hide such a significant part of your past? How could you hide a past as traumatic as this? What else are you hiding, Violet?” he demanded, his grip unrelenting as he stormed away.

I collapsed on the floor, gasping for air, as tears poured uncontrollably. He left with his friends, and I spent the rest of the day crying myself to sleep.

The next day, he returned, looking worn out, and his friend was absent. He apologized, but his words felt hollow. He sat beside me, silent and distant, as I watched him. His phone rang, and he answered, speaking tenderly to the caller, referring to her as “baby.” I was too exhausted to confront him about the call, so I remained silent, watching him intently.

After some time, he got up and went to the bathroom, leaving me alone in the living room. I cried myself to sleep, unable to bear the weight of my emotions.

When he woke up, he ordered food for us and asked me to bathe so we could talk. I followed his instructions, and as we ate, he suddenly asked, “Do you want to keep the baby?”

I nodded silently, and he replied, “Then keep it,” before returning to his meal.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

I hesitated before asking, “Who was that person who called you?”

He hesitated, took a gulp of water, and replied, “I’m sorry. She’s not a threat. Just some random girl I hung out with yesterday.”

His words pierced my heart, but I couldn’t bring myself to confront him. I finished my food in silence, retreated to our room, and cried myself to sleep.

As my pregnancy progressed, so did our quarrels, fights, and pain. Hollian became a shadow of himself, and one day, I begged him to call my parents for me. We needed to reconnect with them.

He refused, fearing they would send him to jail. But I promised to vouch for his innocence, to explain that I came to him willingly.

We contacted my mom on Facebook, and she demanded a video call to confirm my identity. When I saw her, my heart broke. She was frail and didn’t look well. She cried and asked me why I did what I did, revealing that she and my dad were going through a divorce because of me. His family pressured him to marry a younger girl for an heir, and she was already pregnant, living with my dad.

After the call, I felt miserable. I regretted everything and pleaded with my mom for mercy.

I finally gave birth, but my mom couldn’t come due to paperwork delays. I was left alone to care for a baby at nineteen years old, clueless about what to do. I found myself crying most of the time, and Holliann became toxic, distant, and a shadow of himself.


The life I envisioned with Hollian and our baby wasn’t what transpired. Hollian changed, grew easily angered, and distanced himself from our son, Alex.

I became bitter, aggressive, and constantly cried. Taking care of a newborn is more taxing than words can convey— from sleepless nights to changing diapers and feeding.

There were moments when I entertained thoughts of harming him, but I couldn’t bear to hurt his innocent, cute face. He was the spitting image of Holliann. I struggled to bond with him, blaming him for the pain he brought into my life. I believed if he hadn’t come, Holliann would still be the good man I met.

Much changed. We stopped going out together or even sharing the same room because the baby was either crying or demanding my attention.

One night, amidst screams, I demanded, “Leave me! I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of you. Go away!” Hollain, in the living room, heard my cries over the baby’s wails. He carried Alex for the first time and tended to him. I retreated to the bathroom, crying myself to sleep after a shower.

Upon waking, I found Hollain had tended to Alex’s needs, feeling a mix of emotions. Resentment brewed towards Hollain, buried deep within. I couldn’t appreciate his efforts as I once did. Despite his attempts to engage me in conversation, I remained silent. When asked if I wanted anything, I replied with a terse “No.”

Later, he suggested dining out, and I reluctantly agreed. As we ate, Holliann carried Alex, and I walked beside them, clutching my chest. We enjoyed our favorite restaurant before purchasing dessert and fruits from the mall. Arriving home, Holliann apologized for his behavior in recent months, promising to do better. That night, he joined me in bed, helping care for Alex.

Things seemed to improve until one Friday night when Holliann, suggested we hold a party. I hesitantly accepted, longing for a break from the routine.

As the night progressed, Holliann offered Lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD) which is a potent psychedelic drug that belongs to a class of drugs called hallucinogens. It is white in color, has no smell, and is crystalline., claiming it would relax us. Driven by his assurances, I relented. However, the drug’s effects took hold after an hour, distorting reality for hours.

When I regained consciousness, I found myself with Holliann and his friends in a police station. Alex was nowhere to be found.


The sight of police sent shivers down my spine. One by one, we were ushered in for questioning. The news hit us like a ton of bricks – we were informed that we’d have to undergo drug tests. Our neighbor, suspicious of Alex’s well-being, had reported us to social services after hearing him cry inconsolably for hours on end.

The tests came back positive for all of us. Despite my pleas, asserting my newfound resolve and swearing off any further indiscretions, authorities insisted that Alex be temporarily removed from our care. If no significant changes occurred, they warned, permanent separation would be inevitable.

The true gravity of the situation only sank in when we returned home to a hauntingly empty house. Hollain collapsed onto the floor, while I numbly sank into the adjacent couch. The silence amplified the ache in my heart as memories of Alex flooded my mind. Hollain’s tears mirrored my own turmoil. For the first time, he broke down completely, wordlessly grieving our loss.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out, his voice heavy with guilt.

“I take full responsibility for everything. I never imagined we’d find ourselves in this predicament.” He continued..

His admission hung heavy in the air, leaving me speechless, tears streaming down my cheeks. This wasn’t the life I had envisioned, certainly not the one I wanted for my child. The pain of separation made me realize just how deeply I loved Alex; it felt like a vital piece of myself had been torn away.

Determined to turn things around, Hollain and I resolved to seek professional help and embrace sobriety. We committed to becoming better versions of ourselves, not just for Alex, but for any future children we might have.

In the months that followed, we leaned on our parents for support. My mother’s unwavering presence proved invaluable, offering solace and encouragement with each phone call. Holliann and I abandoned our vices, fervently praying for a favorable outcome on the day of our drug and alcohol tests. Through it all, Hollain’s newfound faith in God became a guiding light, leading us towards redemption and healing.

When Alex was finally returned to us, it felt like a miracle. His eyes held a glimmer of recognition, even as he tentatively regarded us as strangers. Yet, his instinctive gravitation towards Hollain spoke volumes. Tears flowed freely as we embraced our son, our family made whole once more.

Returning home, I was greeted by the sight of my parents, standing hand in hand, their love a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. Overwhelmed with emotion, I collapsed into their arms, cradling Alex close. Despite the hardships we’d endured, I found solace in the love and support of my family.

With renewed determination, Hollain and I resumed our studies. I pursued my dream of becoming a medical doctor, while Hollain pursued a degree in mechanical engineering. Balancing parenthood with our academic pursuits was no easy feat, but with our family’s support, we persevered.

As my parents made plans to relocate, seeking a fresh start in a new state, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of closure. Our old home, tainted by painful memories of betrayal and heartache, no longer held sway over us.

I emerged from this ordeal stronger and wiser, resolved to be the best parent I could be. I vowed to provide my children not just with material comforts, but with the intangible gifts of love, guidance, and support. Though my past may have shaped me, it no longer defined me. To those grappling with childhood trauma, I offer this advice: seek help, heal, and reclaim your life. You are not alone.

And to every parent, I implore you to cherish your children, to nurture and protect them, for parenthood is a sacred responsibility, one that demands sacrifice and dedication. Think carefully before bringing a child into this world, for the journey ahead is fraught with challenges, but also brimming with boundless love and joy.

24 thoughts on “TRUTH NOT FACT 1.”
  1. Hmmmm being a parent is far beyond the normal definition….. If you’re not ready to take the responsibility of being a parent pls don’t be. It’s dangerous 🤦🏻‍♀️

    1. Hmmmm. Can we parents try as much as possible to stop raising bullies? Teach them sex education early, listen to every no conversation they have so say and moreover, try to be their best friend.

      Next please 🙏

  2. Hmm, I don’t know what to say, I’m already angry, at who? Maybe to her for refusing to learn from her first mistake and her parents for refusing to teach her about sex at early stage.

  3. I still don’t blame Violet for any mistake she has done…. No I don’t. Her parents failed her big time… Her mother failed her. My Goodness 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️ Even after the first pregnancy and abortion they still didn’t teach this girl. They just shipped her off to a strange land to completely finish herself. Parents pls beware 😭😭

  4. If you know you’re not Emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually ready plssssss don’t get pregnant. Parenthood comes with alot of responsibility.. it’s not just making sure there’s food and good clothes for the child. It comes with alot of Sacrifice. Please if you’re not ready to give it,don’t venture into it I feel so sorry for Violet.

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