. Anyone who saw them would swear they were bonded by destiny.

So you can imagine my confusion when my mother showed up at my office in Abuja last Thursday looking like someone who had seen a ghost.

“My son,” she whispered, refusing to sit. “You must leave that woman today. Today, Chike. Pack your things and go.”

I laughed because it wasn’t funny.
“Mama, what are you saying? What did Adanna do to you?”

She didn’t blink.
“I have returned her bride price.”

The words hit me like cold water.

“Returned what?” I asked, standing up. “Mama, what kind of joke is this?”

“It is not a joke. Her people have accepted it.”

That was when she handed me a small black nylon bag. I opened it, confused.

Inside were the same items her family returned twelve years ago when we married — an old wrapper, a sponge, and a token of money.

“Mama, this is madness,” I said, my voice shaking. “How can you return bride price without telling me?”

She moved closer, gripping my arm so tightly it hurt.
“You think I didn’t try? You haven’t been picking my calls for two weeks.”

I stepped back.
“For two weeks? Mama, I spoke to you three nights ago.”

She shook her head slowly. “Chike… I haven’t spoken to you since the burial.”

“What burial?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Mama, whose burial?”

She looked at me like I had become a stranger. Then she whispered, “Your wife’s.”

My stomach tightened.
“My wife’s what?”

“Adanna died ten days ago. I was in your house. I saw her body myself.”

I froze.

“Mama, Adanna made breakfast for me today.”

Her lips trembled. “That thing living in your house is not your wife.”

The room suddenly felt smaller.
Dead?
Ten days?
Impossible.

I rushed home, speeding like a madman. I burst through the door, breathing hard.

“Adanna!” I shouted.

She came out of the kitchen wearing my old T-shirt, smiling warmly.
“Baby, what happened? You look like you ran here.”

I stared at her face — the same scar on her chin, the same mole under her left eye. She looked completely normal.

“Adanna… when last did you speak to my mother?” I asked.

She blinked slowly. “Your mother? Hmm… it’s been long. Maybe last year.”

“Last year? She was here two weeks ago. You served her pepper soup.”

A shadow crossed her face. “I don’t remember that.”

The hairs on my arms stood.

I stepped back. She stepped forward.

“Chike,” she said softly, “your mind is playing tricks on you. Come. Sit. Eat.”

I looked at her feet.

She wasn’t touching the ground.

Just slightly… slightly above it.

My throat closed.

I turned and ran out of the house. She didn’t shout. She didn’t chase me. She only called my name once, and the sound echoed like two voices speaking at the same time.

I drove straight to the village. My mother was waiting outside with a pastor and my uncle.

“What did you see?” she asked.

I couldn’t answer. I could barely breathe. The pastor placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Chike… what you’ve been living with is a mirror spirit. They take the form of someone you love, someone whose burial was done improperly or whose spirit didn’t cross properly. Your wife’s soul never reached the other side.”

My head spun. “So the one at home…”

“She wants a companion,” he said quietly. “They always do.”

My phone buzzed.

A message from Adanna.

Baby, where did you go? Dinner is ready. Come home. I don’t like eating alone.

I dropped the phone.

The pastor looked at me.
“You need to decide, my son. If you go back, you won’t return. If you stay here, she will come looking for you.”

Right now, as I write this, I can hear my phone ringing again. Same number. Same name.

This time, the message is different.

Chike, I know where you are.

I don’t know what to do next.

Should I run?
Should I hide?
Or should I believe my mother and never return to that house?