Sartse Part 2 Complete Hausa Novel

I told the bike rider I was with in a hoarse voice, and as soon as he pulled up, I alighted because I knew the security guards at the entrance of the street never allowed motorcycles in—only cars.
"Here you go."
I said, handing him his money.
"Here is your change."
I reached out and took it, then walked into the street. I was walking so lightly as if I were taking pity on the ground itself, feeling utterly miserable. Fear and anxiety about what I would find at home consumed my heart, even though I refused to let my mind accept the things Sardauna had told me earlier at the hospital, or what Dr. Naima had said to me after he left. Not even for a second was I prepared to believe a single word of it. I even refused to let my heart accept the divorce he claimed he had given me. 'How on earth could Sardauna possibly divorce me?' I asked myself as I pushed open the gate to our house.
"Hajiya, welcome back."
"Thank you."
I said as I walked past, almost breaking into a light jog out of fear that Allah might bring me face-to-face with Turaki—because right now, there was no person I despised more than Turaki. He was the root cause of everything. As soon as I stepped into the living room, I looked around briefly, then went straight to my room and lay down, but sleep completely eluded my eyes.
I remained lying there until around two o'clock in the afternoon. I then got up, went into the restroom, performed ablution, and observed my prayers. As I sat on the prayer mat, Sardauna's words to me yesterday at the hospital began echoing in my ears as if he were uttering them right at that moment:
"Be prepared to see a lot of things, Nana."
I quickly shook my head and said, "I will stay with you, Sardauna. I will stay right here just like this. I know that one day you will return to me, my husband."
I reached my hand into the bedside drawer to grab my phone, but my hand brushed against the pills Sardauna used to give me—the ones he claimed were for womb cleansing. I picked them up and stared closely at them, wanting to read the label. Even though I didn't have extensive education, I knew enough to read English when I saw it written down. However, my heart refused to let me read it; it simply refused to believe a single word Sardauna had said. I stood up, went into the toilet, flushed them down the bowl, and tossed them away—without reading them or even finding out what was on the label. I simply believed that my ears had heard wrong, and I knew Sardauna couldn't have meant it that way.