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The Empty Chair
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Kozyboy
42 days agoEvery evening, Mama Ngozi sat by the small wooden chair on her veranda. It was always empty, but she kept it there, waiting.
Her son, Chinedu, had left the village years ago to chase his dreams in the city. He promised he would come back for her birthday, then Christmas, then Easter… but life kept him away.
Mama never complained. Instead, she cooked his favorite meal — jollof rice with fried plantain — and placed a small plate on that chair as if he were already there. Neighbors whispered that she was wasting food, but she only smiled softly:
> “When love is real, waiting is never wasted.”
One rainy evening, when her health was failing, she sat outside again, shivering but hopeful. The chair stood by her side, empty as always. Tears rolled down her cheeks, not because of the rain but because her heart was heavy with longing.
Just then, headlights cut through the darkness. A car stopped, and Chinedu rushed out, suitcase in hand. He had finally come home.
“Mama!” he cried, falling to his knees, holding her frail hands.
Mama’s eyes, dim with age, lit up brighter than the stars. She touched his face gently and whispered:
> “The chair was never empty, my son. My love kept it full all these years.”
And in that moment, every tear, every lonely night, every silent prayer — all found meaning.