The Wife Who Melted Away: A Tale of Privilege and Deceit

“Daryl, dearest, would you be a peach and fetch me a bowl of Ivy’s stew?” Delphine cooed, her voice syrupy and soft, echoing through the midday heat from her shaded hut.

Daryl, ever the dutiful and charmed husband, rose without hesitation. “Of course, my most plump and precious wife,” he sang, his eyes twinkling with a gleam that once had made Ivy feel treasured—but now only stirred resentment.

With practiced swiftness, Daryl exited Delphine’s hut and made his way to Ivy’s, where his first wife stirred her pot with one hand while cradling a baby at her breast with the other. The fire cracked beneath the cauldron, and steam rose thick with the scent of yam and roots.

“Ivy,” Daryl said flatly, eyes unmoved, voice devoid of warmth.

Without a word, Ivy motioned to her eldest daughter, who instinctively took the bowl from her father’s hand—just as she had been doing since Daryl brought the plump and pampered Delphine into their homestead two years prior.

The wooden bowl, etched with jagged stars, was filled with steaming stew. Ivy didn’t look up as she passed it over. Daryl took the bowl and left without a backward glance, not even a word of thanks.

With a sharp hiss of breath through her teeth, Ivy muttered under her breath, “She can’t cook—she’s made of oil. The heat will make her melt. Can’t work—she’ll vanish in the sun. Two years, no children? Made of oil! I bet he lays on her and just slides off her belly!”

She threw her head back and cackled, her beaded braids clattering against her shoulders as she bent down to replace the sleepy infant on his mat. Her next child, tugging at her skirt, demanded his turn at her breast. Ivy sighed and nursed him gently, remembering how she had once dreamed that Delphine’s arrival would mean shared burdens—not new ones.

That dream shattered quickly.

Her youngest son, a result of Daryl’s rage-fueled dominance after Ivy questioned why Delphine never labored during planting season, gnashed his gums cruelly even in sleep. Born of anger, Ivy nursed him with bitterness in her heart—his appetite as demanding as his father’s temper.

Later that day, a young girl stood timidly at Ivy’s threshold. It was Delphine’s younger sister, barely older than Ivy’s daughter.

“Delphine asks about her chores,” she said softly, eyes downcast.

Ivy’s eyes narrowed. Her hands gripped her hoe and gourd water pot.

“It’s not appropriate for you to do your sister’s chores,” she snapped. “She’s a grown woman, not a melting doll.”

“Delphine says mother’s rules must be followed. She says it’s appropriate I fulfill her duties. Your husband agrees.”

“Miss Appropriate,” Ivy spat. “Everyone bows to her whim! What’s next? Will you bear her children and pass them off as hers?”

The girl remained quiet, tears brimming. And then, trembling, she spoke.

“She cries every night, Ivy. She says when her beauty fades, and if she has no son, your husband will beat her like he does you… She wants me to lay with him in the dark. She says she’ll claim the child as her own. That she’ll summon our mother when the time comes, and she’ll take gifts beneath the shade tree while I hide in shame.”

Ivy’s heart twisted with grief. The girl could’ve been her sister. Or her daughter. This cruelty had gone too far.

Days later, Daryl announced a journey to the neighboring village to confer with the council about the approaching British missionaries. Ivy knew he wouldn’t return until morning.

Perfect.

She woke early, saw him off with food and farewells, then gathered her children for fieldwork. As usual, the girl appeared.

“Delphine asks about her chores.”

Ivy nodded. “Tell her she’s to do her own today. You’ll help with the children.”

The girl gasped. “She’ll melt, Ivy!”

“She won’t,” Ivy said firmly. “Call her.”

Delphine appeared minutes later, filling the doorway with her voluptuous frame. Her expression was thunderous.

“What is this I hear?” she shrieked. “That I must do my chores?”

“As Daryl is away, I lead. Today, everyone earns their meal.”

“But I’ll melt! I’ve always melted!”

“You never melted. You just melted sympathy,” Ivy retorted. “Go to the field.”

Tears streamed down Delphine’s face. “You’re cruel! I didn’t ask to be born beautiful. I didn’t ask to be made of oil. When Daryl returns and I’m dead from the sun, he’ll punish you.”

“And will your sister be punished too?” Ivy snapped. “For giving you her body, her hope, her future husband?”

The young girl’s eyes darted up, betrayal cutting deeper than any hoe. Ivy covered her mouth too late.

“You told her?” Delphine roared. “You betrayed me!”

“Betrayal?” her sister cried, her voice rising with years of pent-up rage. “You gave me nothing but scraps and shame! You’d take my child? My life?”

She thrust the hoe into Delphine’s hand.

Delphine, stunned, took it and walked into the sun.

She never returned—except for one toe that had been covered by a fallen leaf.

When Daryl returned and heard the tale, he charged into Ivy’s hut, red with rage.

“You forced her into the sun?” he bellowed. “She melted away! Only her toe remains!”

Ivy folded her arms and sighed. “Did you ever ask why she didn’t wear clothes made from leaves? She could’ve worked. You believed her lies because it was easier than seeing the truth: she never intended to contribute.”

“But she MELTED!” Daryl yelled.

“She melted out of laziness, not magic,” Ivy said. “And now we must all bear the truth she tried so hard to hide.”

Moral of the Story:

Entitlement can be more dangerous than hard labor. Those who thrive on deceit and favoritism may one day vanish under the weight of truth.