My Mother-in-Law Paid Me to Poison Her Son—But I Made My Own Plan and Set Her Up

EPISODE 1

When I married Chuka, I knew I wasn’t just marrying a man—I was marrying his whole family. But what I didn’t know was that one of them was a walking nightmare dressed in lace and church perfume. Her name is Mama Agatha—my mother-in-law.

To the world, she was a sweet widow who loved her son deeply. But behind closed doors, she was a master manipulator who wore her hatred like it was a piece of jewelry. From the first day I joined their family, she had a problem with me.

“She’s too quiet,” she told her neighbors.
“She’s hiding something. Girls like her don’t come from decent homes,” she once whispered loudly during a family gathering—knowing I could hear her.

But Chuka loved me. He always defended me. And that made her hate me even more. She believed I had used some kind of “village medicine” to steal his heart. She thought I had bewitched him—and in her world, a woman like me didn’t deserve her precious son.

So she would smile through family dinners but poison the air with her words every time Chuka wasn’t around.

Until the day everything changed.

It was a Sunday afternoon. Mama asked me to accompany her to an herbal shop “for her blood pressure.” I followed without hesitation. That day, she was unusually kind—she even offered me some buns on the way.

When we arrived at the old shop tucked between winding paths, the elderly man behind the counter asked her what she needed. She smiled and said:

“I want something that kills slowly… so no one suspects.”

My Mother-in-Law Paid Me to Poison Her Son—But I Made My Own Plan and Set Her Up

EPISODE 1

I turned to her in shock.

She looked at me calmly and said,
“Don’t act surprised. I know you want to stay in this family. Help me do this and you’ll never suffer again. I’ll give you two million naira. Just put this in his food. Let it happen slowly.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat closed up. Was I dreaming? Was this real?

Seeing my hesitation, she added,
“Don’t pretend to be a saint. This is your chance. You don’t have to kill him completely. Just make him weak, useless. Then I’ll take control of his properties. You’ll get your share.”

I walked out of there trembling.

For days, I couldn’t sleep. I watched Chuka laugh, sleep peacefully, pray, eat… completely unaware that his own mother wanted him dead.

I thought about reporting her. I thought about leaving the marriage. I thought about running.

But I realized something: if I stayed silent, she might try again—maybe with someone else. If I exposed her without proof, I’d turn the whole family against me. And worse, if I left, it would make me look guilty.

So I made a plan.

I decided to play along.

I went back to her a few days later and told her I had changed my mind.
“Let’s do it,” I whispered, pretending to be afraid and greedy.

Her eyes lit up like she had won the lottery. She handed me a tiny black powder and told me to mix it into his stew on Saturday night.

But what she didn’t know was that I had already involved someone else.

My childhood friend Adaora, now a forensic nurse working with the police. I told her everything. She helped me contact an undercover agent. They gave me a powder that looked exactly like Mama’s—but it was harmless, a mix of activated charcoal and sugar.

That Saturday, I followed the script. I cooked the stew. I added the fake powder. Mama watched me from the hallway with a wicked smile as I served the food to her son.

Chuka ate.

And hours later, he pretended to faint.

I screamed. Mama screamed too—but hers trembled.

We rushed him to the hospital. The doctor (who was already informed) came out with a serious expression.
“Your son has been poisoned,” he announced.

Mama put her hands over her face.
“Whaaaat? Poisoned?”

I broke into tears.

That night, the officers came to the house. Mama was already quietly celebrating with her sisters, thinking she had won. But when they presented the recordings of her conversations, her fingerprints on the fake powder container, and the video of her handing it to me in the herbal shop…

She fainted for real.

She screamed:
“They set me up! It was a trap!”

Yes. It was.

I had to protect the man I love—even if it meant going to war with the woman who gave him life.

But what came next… I never expected.

Because the next day, someone knocked on the door—with a file full of secrets from Mama’s past.

And that’s when I realized… she wasn’t acting alone.

EPISODE 2: THE FILE OF SECRETS

The morning after Mama Agatha’s arrest, I expected silence. I hoped the dust would settle, that the chaos would fade, and that maybe—just maybe—peace would arrive.

But peace didn’t come.

Instead, a man in a navy-blue suit knocked on our door at exactly 7:43 a.m., holding a brown envelope and wearing a strange look on his face.

“This is for you,” he said, and walked away before I could ask anything.

I opened it with trembling fingers.

Inside were documents. Bank transfers. Land deeds. Blurry photographs with dates and timestamps. Letters written in shaky handwriting.

And on top, a note written in red ink:

“You only caught one snake. But the nest is still alive.”

My stomach twisted. I flipped through the pages quickly.

There were property records showing land that Mama Agatha had transferred to an anonymous third party just two months ago—land she had sworn she never owned. Hidden bank accounts. Evidence of large cash withdrawals. Voice recordings—not just of her, but of another person.

A man.

One audio clip chilled my blood:

“Make sure the girl complies. If she doesn’t, we move to Plan B. You know what to do.”

I played it again. The voice was distorted but deliberate. Calm. Dangerous.

I ran to Chuka and showed him the documents.

At first, he was silent—then furious.
“My mother isn’t capable of all this.”

But as he flipped through the evidence, his denial began to crack. His eyes scanned the signatures, the timestamps, the audio transcripts. And then he saw it:

A photo of Mama Agatha meeting with a man in a hotel.

A man we both recognized.

Uncle Dozie.

The younger brother of Chuka’s late father.
The man who always said, “If only your father had left a clearer will.”
The same one who tried—unsuccessfully—to take over the family inheritance when Chuka turned twenty-one.

The one who vanished after being publicly cut out of the will.

We thought he had given up.

We were wrong.

Suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place.

Chuka’s recent land troubles.
The fake investors trying to pressure him into selling.
The hacked emails.
The burglary we’d dismissed as a “random break-in.”

It wasn’t random. It was all connected.

Uncle Dozie had never stopped scheming.
He had simply found someone to hide behind—
someone the world would never suspect.

His own sister-in-law.

Mama Agatha.

And now that she’d been exposed, so had he.

But he didn’t run.

He was watching us.

That same afternoon, I received a message from an unknown number:

“You should’ve stayed out of this. Now you’re a threat.”

That night, we moved into a safe apartment arranged by Adaora and the officers.

Chuka installed security cameras.
We stopped eating out.
We changed our phone numbers.

But the attacks didn’t stop.

One of Chuka’s business accounts was frozen using a fake court order.
Our lawyer was bribed to “delay the paperwork.”
Someone slashed our car tires in the middle of the night.

Every time we tried to breathe, something reminded us—
the war wasn’t over.

And in the middle of it all—Mama Agatha.

She refused to talk during interrogation.
Refused to name names.
Refused to admit anything.

Until one day, a guard overheard her mumbling in her sleep:

“I warned Dozie not to involve the girl. She’s smarter than I thought.”

That was all the police needed.

An arrest warrant was issued for Dozie.

But he had already disappeared.

And now, with his plan failed, his name ruined, and his partner on the run…
Mama began to fall apart.

She stopped eating.
Stopped talking.
When they brought her to court, she didn’t look anything like the woman who once paraded around family events in turbans and sharp words.

She looked small. Defeated.

But I didn’t feel victorious.

I felt hunted.

Because even though we had uncovered the truth—
we hadn’t ended it.

Dozie was still out there.
And now… he wanted me dead.

EPISODE 3: THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH

The knock on our door that morning didn’t sound threatening—
it was soft, almost polite.

Chuka was still asleep, recovering from the “incident” we staged.
Half-dressed and still groggy, I opened the door with a mix of fear and curiosity.

The woman standing there looked no older than 35, dressed in a navy-blue suit, her hair pulled tightly into a bun, and eyes that radiated a dangerous calm. She introduced herself simply:

“My name is Inspector Zainab. I have reason to believe your mother-in-law wasn’t acting alone.”

She handed me a thick, worn brown envelope. Inside: photographs, letters, bank transfers.
And then—a photo that tied my stomach in knots.

A woman.

Older than Mama Agatha.
With wrinkles, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that… looked far too much like Chuka’s.

“Who is she?” I whispered.

Zainab’s expression darkened.

“She’s Chuka’s biological mother.”

The ground collapsed beneath me.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your husband was adopted. Mama Agatha raised him after his real mother mysteriously disappeared. But that woman never died. She went into hiding… and has only recently resurfaced.”

I sank into the nearest chair, the photo trembling in my hands.

Suddenly, much of Chuka’s past felt like a lie.
He had always said Mama Agatha raised him after his father died.
He had never mentioned a biological mother—not even a photo.

“Is she alive?” I asked.

Zainab nodded.

“And from what we’ve uncovered… she’s been trying to reach him. She anonymously sent these documents two weeks ago. She was the one who tipped off the herbalist. She’s been watching… from the shadows.”

I stared at the photo of the woman.
There was sadness in her eyes. And guilt.

“So Mama Agatha took Chuka… and made him believe she was his mother?”

Zainab looked at me steadily.

“That’s not all. There’s a property—a massive estate in Enugu—in the name of Chuka’s biological mother. It’s valued at over 400 million naira. And now… someone is trying to erase every trace of her existence.”

“You think Mama wanted him dead before the truth came out.”

“Exactly.”

That night, I didn’t sleep.
I sat beside Chuka, gently running my fingers through his hair, wondering how I would tell him all of this.

By morning, I had made my decision.

When he woke, I was waiting for him with a cup of tea and the envelope in my lap.

“We need to talk,” I said.

He looked at me warily.

“About Mama?”

“About your real mother.”

He blinked.

“What?”

I handed him the photo first. His face lost all color.

“This… this is the woman from my dream,” he murmured.

“It’s not a dream. She’s alive. And she’s been trying to protect you from the shadows.”

I told him everything—about Zainab, the documents, the property, the betrayal.

Chuka stayed silent for nearly an hour. Finally, he whispered:

“So my whole life… I was just a piece in someone’s game.”

“Not anymore,” I said, taking his hand.
“Now we fight back.”

That very night, we boarded a flight to Enugu.

Because if there were still secrets buried in his blood…
We were going to dig them up.

Even if it meant waking the dead.

EPISODE 4: BLOODLINES AND BURIALS

The road to Enugu felt endless. Chuka barely spoke, staring out the window as if he were waiting for the trees to whisper the truth his family had buried.
I knew he was unraveling inside—his identity, his childhood, his sense of belonging—shattered in a single morning.

We arrived just before sunset. Inspector Zainab had already arranged a meeting with the registrar of the ancestral land records.
What we didn’t expect was the crowd waiting outside the small government office: men in dark glasses, two women whispering to each other, and a tall man leaning against a black Prado SUV.

“They’re watching us,” Zainab murmured as she pushed us inside.

Inside, the registrar handed us an old record book, bound with a faded red string. He opened to a page and pointed:

“Property registered under the name Adaobi Mba—mother of a male child, Chuka Mba, born in 1987.”

Chuka tensed up.

“She gave me her last name,” he whispered.

“She never wanted to leave you,” the registrar said.
“But she was forced to.”

Zainab interrupted, her voice low and urgent:

“Adaobi’s disappearance wasn’t voluntary. We believe the Ige family—Mama Agatha’s family—framed her for theft. They used the scandal to gain custody of Chuka… then rewrote the story.”

Chuka slammed his hand on the table.

“Why did she hide all these years?”

“Because they threatened to kill you if she came back,” Zainab answered.
“She’s been protecting you from a distance ever since.”

I took his hand. He was shaking—not from fear, but from rage.

“Where is she now?” he asked.

Zainab hesitated.

“We tracked her to an old abandoned missionary home in Nsukka. She’s alive… but not well. Trauma. Years in the shadows. She believes if she shows her face, you’ll be killed.”

Chuka stood up.

“Take me to her.”

That night, we drove in silence to Nsukka. The missionary home was tucked behind hills, half-swallowed by overgrown weeds. A nun led us down a narrow hallway lit by candlelight.

And then we saw her.

She was thinner than in the photo. Her gray hair was carefully braided, and her eyes were wide with disbelief.

“Chuka?” she whispered.

He froze.

And something inside him shattered. He dropped to his knees, tears pouring uncontrollably.

“Mom?” he choked.

Adaobi knelt beside him, her trembling hands cupping his face.

“I never left you,” she sobbed.
“They said they’d kill you.”

I looked away.
Some reunions are too sacred for an outsider to witness.

But outside that room… danger was closing in.

Back in Enugu, Mama Agatha had been released on bail.

She knew we were digging.
She knew the truth was rising like smoke.
And she wasn’t going to let it consume her.

That same night, as we sat with Adaobi, her shaking hands clinging to ours, Zainab’s phone rang.

She stepped out to answer.

And came back pale, frantic.

“They’re coming. Armed men. Paid. They know he’s here.”

Chuka stood immediately.

“Take her. Get my mother out of here.”

Zainab looked at me.

“And you?”

“I’m staying with him.”

Because this was no longer just his war.

It was mine too.

And if Mama Agatha wanted to finish what she started…

She’d have to go through me.

EPISODE 5: THE FINAL MOVE

After the shock of discovering Mama Agatha’s dark past, our home was no longer the peaceful place it used to be. The appearance of those buried secrets made everything even more complicated. Someone else in her family was involved in that evil plan—an invisible hand pulling the strings.

Chuka and I decided we could no longer sit back and do nothing. We had to fight back. But this time, not with tricks, but with truth and the law.

I worked closely with Adaora and the investigation team, gathering evidence one piece at a time. Every call, message, and suspicious transaction was recorded. Every move made by Mama Agatha and her accomplices was carefully monitored.

Chuka also began confronting his family directly, refusing to stay silent and endure it any longer. He stood by my side—strong and determined, like a true husband. That support made me feel I wasn’t alone in this battle.

Then, one night, just when everything seemed to be going in the right direction, Mama Agatha made one final attempt to bring me down. She called with a cold, threatening voice:

—”You’ll regret daring to challenge me. No one escapes this family without paying the price.”

But I was ready.

I replied:

—”You already paid your price long ago. Now, you’ll answer to the law.”

On the day of the trial, Chuka and I showed up with all the evidence, courage, and truth.

Mama Agatha was arrested along with her accomplices in the family. Her betrayal and crimes were brought into the light.

At last, peace began to return to our lives. We rebuilt our home—without the shadows of doubt and hostility.

I learned that not all love starts with sweetness, but with perseverance and courage, it can overcome even the darkest shadows.

And I, a woman who was once on the edge of the abyss, came back—stronger, freer, and full of hope for the future.