Babana Da Mijina Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The alarm clock mounted on the parlor wall struck exactly one o'clock at night.
She turned her eyes away from the clock and brought them back to the TV screen, watching Al Jazeera....
She was sitting on the sofa, dressed in a sleek, pure white nightgown.
She wasn't extraordinarily beautiful, but she possessed a modest beauty of her own; moreover, she was a woman of utmost class and sophistication.
Upon the tip of her nose was a natural birthmark that suited her well, given her fair complexion.
From where she sat, she heard the engine of her father's car come to a stop. If habit were anything to go by, she was already used to this behavior of her father and her husband—going out at night or returning late. At least her father was a politician, the Deputy Governor of Kebbi State; they often held late-night meetings, and sometimes they even gathered at the house, where she could hear their commotion from her own section of the residence.
Not long after he pulled up, she heard him enter his private quarters. She yawned and stretched in a sleepy daze, right at the exact moment her husband walked into the parlor holding a large soccer ball in his hand.
He wasn't startled in the slightest to see his wife sitting up waiting for him at this hour, because she was accustomed to doing so.
She fixed her gaze upon him, watching him with an unreadable expression, her face devoid of any cheer. He tossed the ball in his hand aside and pulled off his socks, his eyes fixed on her the entire time.
Once he finished taking them off, he let out a soft sigh, all his attention completely focused on her. He found himself mesmerized—there was a tender, subtle look in the pupils of her eyes that God has not bestowed upon all women. He approached her with a dignified, proud stride and sat close to her, placing his hand over hers.
"Please be patient with me, Iman, as you always are. Football is something that..." He went silent due to the sharp look she gave him.
"To the best of my knowledge, soccer is played during the day or in the morning. But as for you all, I don't know what kind of game yours is that you only play it at night."
He stared intently into her eyes.
"Iman, do you not trust me, or are you suspecting me?"
"There is no suspicion here, only the truth I want you to tell me. Besides your bank salary, are you trying to say all this wealth you've gathered is entirely from football?" He nodded his head.
"Absolutely. Go and ask around—you'll hear that any professional footballer who plays abroad earns a massive amount of money. Trust me, my mother's namesake, I have no evil traits that would harm you." She simply stayed quiet, her eyes welling up with tears, unable to bring herself to fully believe her husband and her father. Between my father and my husband, she couldn't say who loved or cared for her more. There was so much money that she didn't even want to see it anymore, given her suspicion of those who possessed it. She wiped the tears from her face while he watched her, filled with love and compassion, feeling her pain deep within his soul. He himself didn't know what profound kind of love he had for Fatima. He gently cupped her face in his hands, using his thumb to wipe away the tears streaming down her face.