Tinuke knew that her father had not been the best husband to her mother, but fifteen years after his sudden death, she still missed him; especially now.
“Mami you have to do something before Tunde kills me,” She pleaded to her mother. “He beats me at every opportunity. If Bami was alive, he would have intervened. Please help me.”
Murmuring something about ignorant children and weak men, her mother turned to her. “Atinuke, I can’t help you. I told you before you got married, women in our lineage are …”
“Cursed with wife-beaters as husbands, I know!” Tinuke interrupted. “But I can’t take it anymore, I have to ...”
“You know you can’t leave,” Her mother interrupted calmly. “Only death breaks our marriages, Tinuke, Only death.” She ended, gazing steadily into her daughter’s eyes.
That night, Tinuke had enough.
Moments later, staring at Tunde’s bleeding skull, with pestle still in her hand, she understood why her grandmother came to the house the night her father died.
Feeling a mixture of love and hate, she called her mother, knowing her daughter would also call, her years from now.
That was the way of the curse.
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