Dark polygamy

The waiting room of Go

Zenith Specialist Hospital always smelled of antiseptic and despair. Patients whispered prayers beneath their breath, nurses hurried from room to room, and above it all, Dr. Festus reigned like a quiet storm in a white coat. At 47, he was the hospital's chief consultant-a man of precision, power, and polished lies.

He stood tall with flecks of grey in his well-trimmed beard, and his voice, calm and deep, could soothe the most panicked patient. To the public, he was a savior. But behind that charm and surgical skill lay a man driven by a hunger no scalpel could dissect.

That Tuesday morning began like many others. The clock in his office clicked softly past 9 a.m. when Nurse Gloria brought in the next patient.

"Doctor, your next is Miss Alice Felix. She's here for a checkup-new admission to the university."

He nodded without looking up. "Send her in."

Alice stepped in cautiously, her eyes bright and curious. She was only 21, fresh out of her parents' house and newly admitted to the university in town. Her skin glowed with the kind of beauty that hadn't yet been dulled by life. She wore a simple blue dress, her admission file clutched in nervous hands.

"Good morning, Doctor."

He looked up, and the moment their eyes met, something shifted.

"Good morning, Miss Felix. Please, have a seat."

The consultation was brief. She came for a school medical clearance, but their conversation drifted beyond blood pressure and vaccinations. He asked where she lived, if she had family in town, what she liked to do for fun. She answered shyly, flattered by the attention of a man so refined.

"You know," he said, handing her back the form with a gentle smile, "you have a beautiful mind. I can tell. Be careful with boys your age. They might not understand your worth."

She blushed. It was the first compliment she had received since arriving in town. She walked out of his office with a quiet smile and a fluttering heart, unaware that her life had just shifted forever.

What Alice didn't know was that Dr. Festus was not single. He lived with Patience-his "official" woman, the third of the four women he had fathered children with. The others had long gone, some driven by heartbreak, others by violence too soft to leave bruises but deep enough to scar the soul.

But Patience remained. Beautiful, quiet Patience who had borne him three children and watched with dying eyes as he slipped in and out of their home like a man always halfway gone.

Now he had found Alice-a fresh heart to possess.

Two weeks later, he texted her. "I haven't stopped thinking about you. Can we talk over dinner?"

She hesitated, but curiosity won.

Dinner turned into weekend visits. Visits became secret dates. And in no time, Alice, alone in a strange town, found herself clinging to the only man who seemed to see her.

He told her he was single, a widower who had buried love long ago. He told her she made him feel alive again. And when he touched her, it was with hands practiced in comfort-hands that had stitched up wounds but were now creating new ones in her soul.

Weeks turned into months. Then one afternoon, Alice stared in disbelief at the test strip in her hand. Positive. Pregnant.

She sat in silence, her hands trembling. Her first instinct was to call him.

His voice, as calm as ever, told her to relax.

"We'll sort everything out. Don't worry, baby. You're mine now."

She believed him-until she followed him home one rainy evening and saw the truth for herself.

A woman opened the door. Three children clung to her dress. The house smelled of home-cooked meals, of lives lived long before Adaobi ever stepped into his clinic.

Reality cracked through the spell.

He had lied.

But what came next was not freedom. It was the beginning of a darkness she could not escape. Because when she tried to leave, strange things began to happen. Nightmares. Bleeding. A sudden paralysis of her will.

He was no longer just a doctor.

He had gone to the shrine.

And Alice, once full of light, was now trapped in a marriage no prayer could free her from.

Not yet.

Not for another twenty-three years