I slapped my “useless” husband for refusing to pay our daughter’s school fees, only to discover he was the anonymous benefactor who had built the entire school.
Right now, I’m hiding in the gateman’s house at the school. I can’t face the Principal. I can’t face my parents. And I certainly can’t face the man I called “useless” this morning.
My name is Titi. I sell frozen fish to support my family. My husband, Kunle, has been “unemployed” for seven years. Every morning he wears a wrinkled shirt, a dusty coat, and goes out looking for a job. By evening, he returns sweaty and dejected.
“Titi, today wasn’t lucky. The country is tough,” he always says.
I pity him. I feed him. I dress him. I even give him money for transport.
“Don’t worry, my love,” he always says. “God will take care of it.”
But I was exhausted. Our daughter, Moyin, had been sent home from school last week because we owed 40,000 Naira for the term.
I begged Kunle:
“Please, ask your brothers. Ask your friends. Moyin can’t stay home.”
He looked at me with those innocent eyes.
“Titi, I’ve asked everyone. No one has money. Let her stay home for one term. She’ll catch up.”
I lost my temper. I slapped him. A hot, messy slap.
“You’re a failure, Kunle! Look at your friends! You want me to keep our child home? I regret marrying you!”
He didn’t say a word. He just picked up his coat and walked out.
I felt guilty, but I was frustrated. I went to the market, sold the last two crates of fish, and collected 20,000 Naira. I went to the school to plead with the Principal:
“Please, take half of this payment. Let Moyin sit her exams.”
When I arrived, there was a celebration. Balloons floated everywhere, a cameraman was filming, and a huge ribbon was tied across a massive new building.
“What’s happening?” I asked the gateman.
“Ah, Mrs. Titi! You didn’t know? The anonymous benefactor has finally revealed himself! He built a new library, a computer lab, and paid the tuition for 50 local students!”
I squeezed out my 20,000 Naira, thinking, “Wow. Some people are really lucky.”
“The announcement is about to start,” the gateman said. “Come see the man.”
I followed the crowd to the auditorium. The Principal stood on stage with a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen! For the past five years, he has anonymously donated millions to us. We only knew him as ‘Mr. K.’ Today, we are honored to meet the benefactor who changed our story!”
Drums rolled. The curtains opened. And there he was, in a sharp, expensive suit, holding golden scissors—Kunle.
My Kunle. The man I called useless this morning.
He didn’t look down. He stood tall, like a king.
“Thank you,” Kunle said into the microphone. His voice was different—confident. “I believe every child deserves a future. That’s why I built this block for the community.”
The crowd cheered, parents clapped. I stood at the back, mouth agape.
The Principal continued: “And that’s not all! Mr. Kunle has also set up scholarships for the top students!”
I looked at the parking lot. A black Land Cruiser gleamed with a polished driver, license plate “K-SQUARED.” He had millions, while I still sold fish in the sun, begging neighbors for salt. This morning, I slapped him over 40,000 Naira.
I felt faint. I tried to hide, but the Proprietress spotted me.
“Oh! And here’s his lovely wife! Mrs. Titi! Step forward!”
All eyes were on me. I was wearing a fishmonger’s apron, smelling of Titus fish, hair worn and old. Kunle looked at me from the stage. He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He looked at me with the same eyes he had when I slapped him.
I ran to the school gate. My phone kept pinging credit alerts: 5,000,000 Naira… then another 5,000,000 Naira.
He had sent a message:
“This is your capital, Titi. You said I was a failure. Now you have money. Go and succeed. Don’t come home yet.”
I was trembling. Was he testing me? For seven years? Is this fair? How can a man watch his wife struggle just to “test” her loyalty? Or did I fail because I slapped him? Who is right, who is wrong? Me, for losing patience after seven years of suffering, or him, for hiding his wealth while I labored like a servant?
