When I completed senior high school (SHS), I went to live with my elder sister and her husband. They had just welcomed a new baby and needed a helping hand. At first, I was only there for a vacation, but I quickly grew to love the place, especially the warmth and kindness of her husband. He looked out for me, bought me gifts, and even sent me money during Christmas and on my birthday when I wasn’t with them.

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The day I arrived in town, he was the one who came to the station to pick me up. In the car on the way home, he touched me at every opportunity while talking to me. I didn’t think much of it until he placed his hand on my thigh and left it there.

I shifted my leg, trying to get his hand to fall off, but it stayed. He told me how much he had missed me and how things hadn’t been the same since I’d been away. He congratulated me on completing school and said, “I hope you stay as long as possible because we need your help around here.”

I knew he was warm and kind, but his touchiness was something new to me. When we got home, he helped me settle in, and I went to hug my sister. She was happy to see me too and immediately handed me the baby, showing me how to care for her.

One night, I woke up to a shadow falling over me. It was my sister’s husband. “Isn’t it too cold in here? Let me adjust the air conditioning for you,” he said. He lowered the temperature and left. From that night on, I kept the air conditioner at the setting he had chosen. Another night, I woke up to see him walking out of my room. I don’t know why he had come in, but I saw his back as he left. I wanted to call out and ask what he wanted, but I stopped myself.

One afternoon, when we were alone in the house, he sat next to me and confessed that he wanted me to be his girlfriend. He said he had wanted me for a long time, even since I was a child. “You’re way more beautiful than your sister,” he said. “If I had met you earlier, I would have waited for you to grow up so I could marry you.”

Red flags flew before my eyes, but I did nothing about it. I tolerated his advances until one afternoon, it happened. My sister had gone for a postnatal check-up, and we were left alone. I didn’t want to do it, and I told him to stop, but he persisted until I reluctantly gave in.

The burden of guilt began to consume me, especially whenever I saw my sister’s face. Four days after the affair, I woke up at dawn and left the house without telling anyone. I didn’t even take all my belongings. I returned to my parents’ home. When they asked why, I told them I was tired and the stress was too much. My sister had already called them to report me missing, so when I arrived, the questions were endless.

My sister and her husband came to my parents’ house to ask the same questions. My sister said, “Did I say anything wrong? Did I insult you in any way?” Her husband added, “Or was it me? Did I insult you or treat you badly?” His voice trembled as he asked those questions. They wanted me to come back, but I told them I would never return. My father was furious, calling me lazy and ungrateful.

The guilt never left me, even though I had escaped the place where it all began. One morning after church, I confessed everything to my mother. I told her how it started, how it continued, and how it ended. She was so shocked that she called me a liar and even asked me to swear on my life. I did. She asked, “Who else knows about this?” I replied, “Only my pillow and you. But I want my sister to know so I can ask for her forgiveness.” My mother responded sternly but solemnly, “She can’t know. No one else can know. If you want forgiveness, pray to God.”

I’ve prayed for over seven years, but every time I hear my sister’s voice or see her face, my heart skips a beat, or my spirit feels like it’s jolting out of my body—especially when I see her unexpectedly. When I was in university, I met with a school counselor. I didn’t tell her the whole truth, which might be why her advice couldn’t heal me.

I’m a woman now. I live on my own, work, and am building my life, but I can’t keep a relationship going for more than a year. I get tired and push the man away. It’s as if he’s trying to occupy the space where my guilt and shame reside, and it becomes too much for me to bear. So, I leave, just as I left that dawn without saying goodbye to my sister.

At this point, I believe only confession can make me whole again. I’ve told my sister there’s something I need to tell her, so whenever we talk on the phone, she reminds me, “So, what is it that you said you would tell me?” I always respond, “Oh, it’s nothing serious. We’ll talk.”

She thinks I need money and can’t bring myself to ask. She tells me her husband can help if it’s about money. One day, out of nowhere, I texted her husband and said, “I’m ready to talk about what happened between us with my sister, so get your defense ready.”

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He called and texted, insisting that we should talk. To me, there’s nothing to discuss—only a confession to make. What do you think? Should I confess? I don’t care what happens to their marriage. If it breaks, it’s the man’s fault. If it breaks and sets me free, I will embrace my newfound freedom and start over with a clean slate. I’ve carried this burden for too long. There should be a resting place for me.

—Carmila 

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