If you haven’t read the first part of this story, here’s the link. Kindly read it before starting this one.

My worst fear was to find out in any other way that my wife was cheating. I’d been cheated on before, and it left me broken for years. That was in the days when I was young and trying my hand at dating. I didn’t do anything wrong. The woman I was dating didn’t find me man enough, so she took her love to town to sell to other men. I was told, but I didn’t listen. I was shown evidence, but I told them they were jealous of our love. Until I found out the hard way.

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The guy she was involved with was very close to me, though not a friend. I looked at his face and asked, “So you didn’t know she was my girlfriend?” That statement became the line they used to mock me. While I was breaking apart, the woman who cheated on me didn’t care. Friends I thought would sympathize with me also laughed at me. I prayed I would never go through such pain again.

My wife was the perfect girlfriend for me because of her bubbly nature. When we met, I was already old enough to know what I wanted in a woman. We dated for two years, or? Yeah, two or fewer years depending on how I count the years. Life was easy and fun between us. Our first child made us parents, so we changed a little bit, but we still maintained what made us who we were. And then the second came to consolidate our parental status.

When I shared my story the first time, cheating wasn’t something I thought about deeply, but it flashed to the fore of my thoughts. That it could be possible, especially when the password change came in. I was hurt and scared, but deep down I wanted to believe she wasn’t cheating. But sharing my story put me in a situation I never thought I would be in. While some of the comments were kind and considerate, a lot went straight for the kill.

The one comment that made me shiver said, “A woman always does that when another man has come into her life and she loves him more than you.”

I still remember that comment clearly, as though it was printed yesterday. It sounded very true when I placed it side by side with what happened in my heartbreak story. In fact, a lot of comments suggested cheating, especially from the men. I believed them because they were coming from men. Only men will know what men go through, I said to myself.

I got angry and tried to bully my way through the issue. I asked her, “Why did you change your password? Who’s that man you’re hiding on your phone?”

She asked me, “How did you know I’ve changed my password? What were you looking for on my phone?”

She was very defensive while I attacked, preaching oneness in marriage and drawing instances to support the need for transparency in marriage. She talked very little while I did all the talking. In the end, she said, “Do I know what you also do on the side?”

I concluded she was cheating. If not, why would she ask me that question in that tone? “Do I know what you ALSO do on the side?” That “also” in the sentence was an admission of her sinful ways. It’s crazy, but one day I followed her around secretly to see where she went and the people she talked to. I did that while my heart was jumping restlessly in my chest.

My elder sister called one day to ask what was going on in my house. “Are you two fighting?” she asked me. I answered no and asked why she was asking. She answered, “Last night when I was about to sleep, your wife sent me a message. I saw your name, but I didn’t want to engage her and destroy my sleep, so I let the message be. I woke up this morning to see the messages had been deleted.”

My elder sister had been the confidant of my wife since we were dating. She was the one who settled our issues and brought sanity into our lives. When we got married, she didn’t have much to do, but once or twice, I remember she had to come in to settle something small. When she told me that, I begged her to push and see what the problem was because it had been going on for months. She asked me, “Are you sure you’re not cheating or giving her a reason to suspect you are?”

I answered, “Even if that was the case, shouldn’t she talk about it rather than treat me this way?”

My sister did all the work and brought me the result in two days. I was shocked, but I sighed in relief. The truth is, what my wife said was the problem was something I’d forgotten I even did. Women.

So there’s this lady in our church, Helena. I belong to the same society as her, and we were very close. We played a lot, but it ended while we were in church. She didn’t call me on the phone or text me to talk.

When the rumor started that Helena was about to marry, it was my wife who heard it first and asked me. When she saw the wedding photos, which I’d seen long ago, she showed them to me, and I said, “A beautiful woman like her, see the kind of man she’s going to marry. I think she’s marrying him because of his money, cos this man diɛ lie lie.”

According to my wife again, when Helena got pregnant and we had a conversation about her, I said Helena looked too beautiful for a pregnant woman and even said, “This girl diɛ, God took his time to weave her paaa ooo.”

I don’t remember saying that. We were gossiping, so anything at all could be said without malice.

And the last straw that broke the camel’s back was when Helena brought her baby to church for blessing, and I said Helena didn’t look like a woman who had just delivered. She didn’t have a big tummy and didn’t grow fat like other women do.

That was where the cold treatment started, but I didn’t notice. She told my sister that I was jealous of Helena’s husband. Maybe I had intentions to marry Helena, and she bounced me, and I couldn’t move on. That aside, I’d never said any of those positive things I said about Helena about her, though she was my wife, and it made her feel disrespected.

I asked my sister, “Is that all she said I’d done?” My sister answered, “That’s the problem with you men. What do you mean, is that all? You don’t think what you did warrants her reaction? Go and talk to her and say sorry.”

I laughed, not because of what she said but because of the fact that I had to go through a cocktail of bitter emotions because of something as simple as that. I even decided not to bother about her. “If that’s the case, then she should go to hell. I don’t care,” I told my sister.

It looked like knowing it wasn’t about another man released a gangster feeling in me, but days later, I sat her down to address the issues from her point of view. She still didn’t want to come to the table until I told her my sister had told me everything.

She shouted, “If she was the one you wanted, then why waste your time and money on me and then use her to rub my face?” I said, “I’m sorry,” but it didn’t cut it. “Sorry for what?” she queried. “Go to her. What you men can’t do? Go and snatch her from her husband.”

I realized she needed to vent, so I allowed her. After telling me her pain and everything, I said, “Sorry, I didn’t know I was doing all that. I thought we were just gossiping. It won’t happen again.”

Today, when I see Helena, I turn away. Even if I have to engage, it doesn’t go beyond a few words. Even when she’s not looking, I feel her eyes are piercing through my skin, so I do the right things around Helena.

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I’ve learned what we call “nothing” could be everything to someone—the small foxes that destroy the vineyard. So I don’t talk to her like I’m talking to myself, so I can say what I believe wouldn’t hurt me. I talk like I’m talking to someone who is different from me and would hear things differently. When I suspect I’ve said something that would cause confusion in her head, I ask, “Anaa, I didn’t say it well?”

So far, so good. Our marriage is intact, and we are back to who we used to be—bubbly, chatty, and parents to the kids God has brought our way.

—George

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