How My Fiance Chichi Slapped Me In Front Of My Mom

How my Fiance ChiChi Slapped me in Front of my Mom Because I Refused to tell my Mom to Leave the House 

It was a sunny afternoon in Lagos, the kind where the heat sticks to your skin and the air feels heavy with humidity. I was sitting in the living room of our small, cozy apartment, nervously glancing at the clock. My fiancée, ChiChi, was in the kitchen preparing a late lunch, and my mom was seated on the couch, flipping through a magazine with a serene smile on her face. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent storm brewing just beneath the surface.

My mother had come to stay with us for a few days, a visit I had been both looking forward to and dreading. She and ChiChi had always had a strained relationship, marked by subtle disagreements and unspoken resentments. ChiChi believed that my mother was overly critical and invasive, while my mother thought ChiChi was too headstrong and independent. Their interactions were always polite but fraught with an underlying tension that made every conversation feel like a minefield.

That afternoon, as we sat in the living room, ChiChi emerged from the kitchen with a platter of jollof rice and fried plantains. She set the food on the table with a practiced grace, her eyes briefly meeting mine with a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher—anger, frustration, perhaps even a plea for understanding.

“Lunch is ready,” ChiChi announced, her voice steady but lacking warmth. My mother looked up and smiled, thanking her with a nod before moving to the table.

As we started to eat, the conversation was light and inconsequential, focusing on the weather and recent news. But beneath the surface, I could sense ChiChi’s growing irritation. She had been asking me for days to speak to my mother about giving us some space, to perhaps cut her visit short. But every time I tried to bring it up, I found myself unable to voice the request. I didn’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings, and I kept hoping the situation would resolve itself without confrontation.

ChiChi’s patience finally snapped that afternoon. As my mother started recounting a story from my childhood, ChiChi suddenly stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the tiled floor.

“This can’t go on, Michael,” she said, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “We need to talk.”

My mother looked up, startled by the sudden outburst. “What’s the matter, ChiChi?” she asked genuine concern in her eyes.

ChiChi ignored her, focusing her gaze on me. “Michael, you need to tell your mother to leave. We need our space.”

I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. “ChiChi, please, not now,” I murmured, glancing at my mother’s confused expression. “We can talk about this later.”

“No, we need to talk about this now,” ChiChi insisted, her voice rising. “I’ve been patient, but this is our home, and we need to set boundaries.”

My mother’s face fell, the hurt plain in her eyes. “If I’m causing trouble, I can leave,” she said quietly, starting to stand up.

“No, Mom, please sit down,” I said hastily, feeling a rush of panic. “ChiChi, can we not do this in front of her?”

ChiChi’s eyes flashed with anger. “You always do this, Michael. You avoid the issue, and I’m left feeling like the bad guy.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the situation. “ChiChi, let’s talk about this later. Please.”

But ChiChi had reached her breaking point. With a swift, angry motion, she stepped forward and slapped me across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. I stared at her in shock, my cheek stinging from the impact, while my mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

ChiChi’s eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe what she had just done. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned on her heel, running out of the room and slamming the door behind her. I stood there, stunned, the room spinning around me.

My mother slowly approached her expression a mix of concern and sorrow. “Michael, are you okay?” she asked softly, placing a gentle hand on my arm.

I nodded numbly, unable to find my voice. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the pain I felt in my heart. ChiChi’s slap had been a wake-up call, a harsh reminder of the unresolved issues that had been festering for too long.

As I stood there, my mother’s comforting presence beside me, I realized that something had to change. I couldn’t keep avoiding the difficult conversations, couldn’t keep hoping that things would magically resolve themselves. I needed to find a way to balance the love and respect I had for both my mother and my fiancée, to create a space where we could all coexist without hurt or resentment.

But for now, all I could do was stand there, feeling the weight of the moment, and hope that somehow, we would find a way through this storm together.