Chimamanda returned home, clutching her stomach with a pained facial expression, I asked her what was wrong. She explained that she'd been in pain for a while and was struggling with constipation. I reached out to a nurse friend, explained Chimamanda’s symptoms, and sought advice. 

My friend (the nurse) confirmed it was likely constipation and recommended some medications and fruit. I bought what was needed, and Chimamanda took them. The following day, she reported that she was feeling much better, and I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking God for her recovery.

A few days later, while doing laundry, I decided to check Chimamanda’s room for any of her clothes to wash. To my astonishment, I found a bloodstained towel hidden in her drawer. Shocked, I waited for her to return from school so I could ask her about it. 

She got back from school, and I confronted her but she quickly claimed it was as a result of her period. I suspected she was lying, but I had no evidence to prove otherwise.

While at work, I received a call informing me that Chimamanda was in a serious condition at school. I dropped everything and rushed to the school. In the medical room, I found her in pain. The moment she saw me, she cried out, “Mum, I’m sorry I hid the truth from you,” and then she began to confess.

She revealed that she had been gang-raped after attending a party with Ezinne and Zara despite my warning against her friendship with them. 

She explained that she followed them to a club, they got drunk and the rest was history. A few weeks later, she discovered that she was pregnant but couldn’t bring herself to tell me about her escapades with the girls. Following Zara’s advice, she had an abortion, and since then, has suffered from stomach pains and bleeding. She tearfully apologized, overwhelmed with guilt.

At that point, I knew things would never be the same anymore, as I was on the verge of losing my fifteen-year-old daughter to the strange arms of death. While I was still crying, Chimamanda died on me. 

Her death has left an indelible mark on my heart, forever reminding me of the struggles I endured while carrying her, the hardships I faced during labor, and the deep sorrow that now haunts my existence.