Tonia’s hands trembled as she stared at the white plastic strip lying on the sink. The two red lines stared back at her—bold, unbending, unforgiving. Positive.
The walls of the cramped bathroom in the hostel room suddenly felt smaller, like they were pressing in on her. Her breath came in shallow bursts. She tried blinking, willing the lines to disappear, but they stayed, like truth inked on her skin. Her heart pounded louder than the generator humming outside.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Tonia was only 19—just a diploma student trying to make sense of school, life, and the blurry edges of love. She had met Femi barely six months ago. He was 24, charming, always had the right words, always made her laugh, always knew when to call. He said he loved her. He said she was different. And that night—her first—he promised nothing would go wrong.
“I’ll always be here for you,” he had whispered into her ears after the deed was done, sweaty bodies tangled under the bedsheet. And she believed him. Why wouldn’t she? He brought her food when she was broke, sent her airtime, helped her do her data analysis project, even prayed with her. He wasn’t like the others.
But now, staring at the strip, the memory of his sweet words made bile rise in her throat.
She rushed out of the bathroom, the stick still in her hand, and collapsed onto the bed. Her roommate, Ada, had gone home for the weekend, and the room was eerily silent. The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock and her own ragged breathing.
She picked up her phone with shaky hands and dialed Femi.
He picked up on the third ring.
“Hey babe, what’s up?” His voice was casual. Calm. Too calm.
“Femi… I’m pregnant.”
There was a pause—just a heartbeat’s worth—but it was enough to drain her completely.
“What do you mean you’re pregnant?”
“I just took a test. It’s positive. I—Femi, I don’t know what to do—”
“You must be mistaken. Did you use it well? You know these strips lie sometimes.”
“I did everything right. I waited, just like the instruction said. Two lines. Femi, I’m scared—”
“Okay, listen. Don’t panic. Just give me some time. I’ll call you back.”
Click.
He hung up.
She stared at the phone in disbelief. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Then two hours. No call. She tried calling again. Switched off. Again. Switched off.
That night, she didn’t sleep. She cried into her pillow until her eyes swelled shut.
The Next Day
The message came the next morning:
“Tonia, I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I don’t think I’m the father. I was always careful. I think you should find a way to take care of it.”
Just like that. No “how are you feeling?” No “can we talk?” Just blame and denial.
She stared at the message for a long time. Her chest felt like it had been stabbed with a blunt knife. Her heart was too heavy to cry again. She just sat there, phone in hand, wondering how someone who once made you feel like the only girl in the world could suddenly pretend like you never existed.
She replied just three words:
“God will judge.”
Denial
The first instinct was to hide. Pretend it wasn’t happening. She skipped lectures. Wore big clothes. Tied scarves tightly around her waist. Maybe if she ignored it long enough, the baby would just disappear. But days turned to weeks, and her body began changing—subtle at first, then obvious.
Morning sickness hit her like a moving trailer. The nausea was relentless. Sometimes she vomited five times before noon. Her skin dulled. Her breassts ached. Her eyes were always tired.
She stopped going to church. She couldn’t handle the holy stares. She avoided friends. Even Ada, her roommate, didn’t know.
But Ada wasn’t stupid.
One evening, after Tonia came back from the school clinic, clutching a folic acid sachet in her pocket, Ada cornered her.
“You dey hide am, abi? You think say I no know? Your nose don wide, your waist don disappear. Tonia, you’re pregnant, abi?”
She burst into tears again. The third time that week.
“I didn’t plan it, Ada. I didn’t want this. He left me.”
Ada sighed, sat beside her, and rubbed her back gently.
“Na man wey no get sense dey run from responsibility. You get strong mind, you go pull through. But you need to tell your people. Soon.”
Fear of Home
Tonia dreaded the thought of telling her parents. Her father was a retired army officer who barked more than he spoke. Her mother was a devoted deaconess who treated pre-marital pregnancy like leprosy. She imagined the scene in her head:
Her mother collapsing on the floor, screaming, “You have killed me!”
Her father slapping her across the face.
Her younger siblings watching in horror.
Her being kicked out with just a bag of clothes and her shame.
And yet, the pregnancy clock ticked on.
She thought about abortion. Even asked Ada to find a “solution.” But something inside her wouldn’t let her go through with it..
She was scared. Tired. And alone.
But somehow, through the haze of fear and shame, she kept moving—barely.
She wore flat shoes. Ate what little she could. Drank garri when there was no money for food. Slept through hunger pangs. And cried. Often.
Still, the baby inside her grew.
Ending Reflection (Episode 1)
That night, as she lay on her bed—one hand on her growing belly—Tonia whispered:
“I don’t know how I’ll do this. I don’t know if I’ll survive it. But I will try. For you.”
And somewhere in the silence, her stomach fluttered slightly for the first time. Like the baby had heard her. Like it was saying, “We’ll try… together.”
To be continued in Episode 2:
