The very first day I met her I thought she was the one. She was mature in her actions and very articulate in her speech. I thought I could love someone like that so I took her number under the pretext of friendship. When I called her the first time, she mentioned my name and said, “I know you’re the one because I’ve been expecting your call.”

She’s a smart woman so I didn’t have to do a lot for her to detect my interest in her. She spoke softly and agreeably to everything I said. When I asked for a date, she asked when. When I mentioned when she asked where. When I suggested where we should go she asked what time she should be there.

She looked immaculate, like a girl on a prom date. When she told me she had a four-year-old daughter I didn’t believe her. She looked like a girl than a mother but that wasn’t all her story. “I’m getting a divorce after seven years of marriage,” she told me. “We’ve been separated for almost a year but soon we’ll put finality to the divorce process.”

Women have a way of pushing a prospective suitor away when they like him but don’t want him to fall too deep. They’ll use the name of another man to push you away. They’ll speak low of themselves to get you disinterested in them or use marriage to disarm you. I thought that was what she was doing until she showed me photos on her phone. Her daughter when she was a baby, her daughter when she was going to school, her daughter when she was just being a daughter.

“How about your husband, I want to see his photo too,” I requested.

“You mean my ex? I don’t have anything of his. I deleted all of them when I concluded that I wanted a divorce. But I can take you to his social media for you to see how he’s like.”

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The last photo the man posted was a week ago. He was still wearing his wedding ring. I pointed it out to her and she told me it was just a facade he was putting on because the divorce didn’t favour him. “Without his ring, people will ask him questions. He’s guilty and might not be able to talk about it that’s why he continues to wear it even when this marriage is over.”

We had a good night. We got tipsy and touchy and vulnerable. When I walked her to her Uber she told me, “I’m sorry to bore you with my divorce stories. I hope the next one will be better.”

The next one was at a bar where the waitresses and some patrons knew her. They treated her with respect as if she were royalty. “When we were in love and love was in us, I mean me and my ex, we frequented here every night to waste the night away. This is where he met the first woman he cheated with. She was a waitress,” she told me.

“And you brought me here? Don’t you think it will raise eyebrows?” I asked her.

“When he cheated with that waitress and it came out, eyebrows were raised and as we speak, those brows are still hanging in the air. No one has the time to judge.”

Again, stories of her divorce took centre stage. I saw it as part of healing. He loved talking about it but she would apologize afterwards. The next date was between us and her daughter, an eloquent beauty who said things beyond her age. When the date finally happened at my place, we had our first sex and then the second a week later and then the third until we stopped counting.

We were in a relationship when she hadn’t finalized her divorce. I was worried but she assured me that she would get things done soon so we could settle down without any strings pulling us apart.

When our relationship was about three months old, I had a call from a man who spoke with the authority of the thunder that comes without lightning. His voice was deep and assuring but he sounded hollow when he started talking about the reason he called me. Like he had been hurt before and was still bleeding from the hit. He said, “I heard you’re dating my wife. She might have told you we are getting a divorce but until we get it, she’s still my wife so stay away from her.”

I was stunned. All I could ask was “Where did you get my number?” And then later said, “I’m sorry but that’s not true and I don’t want to be dragged into your issues. Talk to her. She’s the one you have issues with.”

I called her to tell her that her ex called. She was livid. She put me on hold and called her ex. I was on the phone on a conference call but her ex didn’t know it. The man spoke like a man who had lost what it took to be a man. Flat. Sad. Wretched. But the woman between us threw the salvos, warning him to stay out of her affairs. “Did I confront any of the women you cheated on me with? I’m no longer your wife so stop policing my life.”

That day I realized I was being dragged into the eye of the storm so I met her for what was supposed to be the final conversation. I was going to tell her to settle her issues with her ex and come back when the divorce had been finalized. She told, “I’m pregnant and I believe it’s yours. Will you leave us because of the shadow of my past?”

She had already decided she was going to keep it and I had no say in it. In fact, that made me very angry. It made me feel trapped so I withdrew a little. Things were not the same between us for like one month. One day when I called she told me she wouldn’t see me again so I shouldn’t call her again. I was like, “How about the pregnancy?” “The pregnancy? You want it now?” She asked. I couldn’t answer. She cut the call and that was the end of our relationship.

But it wasn’t the end of the story. While I was withdrawing from her because of the pregnancy, she was drawing close to her ex-husband because she had fallen for his reconciliatory efforts. After a year of being apart, I don’t know what happened or what was said, the two of them got back together and decided to mend what was broken.

I thought she could go back to her husband only because she had aborted our pregnancy. Two months after our breakup, I saw her with a bump that looked like a bump only I could create. I ran to her and asked what was happening. “You kept it? He knows it doesn’t belong to him? Did you give him what’s not his?”

She didn’t answer any of my questions. She responded, “Stop harassing me. I’m a married woman.”

Her ring gleamed in my eyes. It looked new, a new beginning of their marriage. She wouldn’t answer my questions until she delivered. She told me she couldn’t say for sure if the pregnancy was mine because while seeing me, she was seeing her ex too on the side. “Only a DNA test can prove that,” she said. “But I’m not ready to go through all that. You didn’t want it anyway so let it stay just like that.”

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I’ve allowed it to stay like that. Their marriage is thriving. I’m happy for them but it keeps me awake in the night that I have a child growing up somewhere. I’m an Ashanti but my child has a Ga name. It’s like the chicken of a fowl following a mother duck because it was the duck that hatched it. I won’t probe. If it makes them happy, they should keep it this way forever.

— Bra Fii

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