When we were young, my mom told us, the girls, that she would never let us marry a man who already had children, so we should be careful not to become women with children ourselves. She said this in different ways and at different stages of our lives to show how serious she was.

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She married our dad when he already had children. Her father, my grandfather, didn’t agree to the arrangement. He warned her about it. That she was too young to become a mother to two adults. My mom was so much in love she didn’t listen. She went ahead and got pregnant for my dad, so my grandad had no option but to allow the marriage to happen.

My mom’s regret became her song and her lesson. The struggles she went through with my dad and his children, the name-calling from the women my dad had the children with, everything went against her in the marriage, but she couldn’t leave. Her dad wouldn’t let her leave, so she thought the best thing to do was tell us not to go into the same “tribulations,” as she called her situation.

My first boyfriend was Denis. I dated him when I was in university. We were both at the same level but studying different courses. We didn’t go anywhere unless the other was following. Our friends called us Romeo and Juliet, a name we proudly responded to. First semester of our fourth year, I got pregnant.

“Eiii, how am I going to deal with this?”

Our first thought was to let it go. When the time came for me to take the drug, I shivered. I told him I’d taken it when I hadn’t. Days later, I told him I couldn’t take it. He was so angry he threatened to beat me if I didn’t. Eventually, I told him I was going to have the child because I was scared something drastic would happen if I took it. He tried his best to push me. I asked him, “So where’s the love you said you had for me?”

Our relationship suffered. We went days without talking. He looked into my eyes and saw his nemesis, so he avoided me. While I was struggling with him, I was struggling with the thought of becoming the woman with a child before marriage, something I’d been raised not to be.

When the pregnancy was about four months along, Denis realized there was nothing he could do, so he started coming around. Everyone in school knew he was the father, so there was no hiding it. While I was going through the shame of carrying a pregnancy to class, I was also thinking about the shame I’d brought to my mom.

During vacation, I couldn’t go home. I lied to my mom that I was busy in school. She sent me money. Anything I needed, I called for it, and she sent it. I carried the pregnancy until I wrote my final exams. I was nine months along, but my mom didn’t know. After school, I decided to stay and give birth before telling her, but our hostel manager drove me away, saying it was a hostel, not a maternity ward.

Denis helped as we packed and left for the house. The plan was for him to travel with me to my home and help explain to my mom, with some sort of marriage assurance, but before we got to my town, he changed his mind. I went home alone.

When my mom saw me, she screamed, “Herh Abena Juliet! What am I seeing? Tell me I’m dreaming. When? How? Why? Oh my God, what am I seeing?”

I don’t think I can describe the drama that unfolded. My mom cried. She said I’d disappointed her and the ghost of my father. She had the right to be shocked, but there was nothing she could do.

Four days after arriving home, I gave birth. Denis never came to see me. I called him. My mom spoke to him at length, begging him to come and name the child to avoid the shame of having a grandchild without a father. Denis never came. Our child was almost a year old when I heard he’d traveled abroad.

I cried myself to sleep every night until one night my mom told me, “Don’t worry. That gentleman will come back. He won’t run forever. Something will bring him here one day, and then you’ll decide whether to forgive him or not.” I responded, “He should never come here because he has no forgiveness to receive from me.”

Six years later, I got a call. It was Denis. He wanted to see me to talk about the child. My mom was right next to me. When I told her it was Denis, she said, “The time has come. Didn’t I tell you? They always come back.”

I told him there was nothing to talk about, so he shouldn’t dare come around. He begged. He said he regretted it and that his life hadn’t been the same since he ran away. I told him, “My life has never been the same either, but I think I like this new life. I’ve done it without you for about seven years. I can keep going.”

Now, my problem is with my mom. She wants me to go back to Denis because of the child. She’s not looking out for my happiness but for the child’s, so I wouldn’t be that woman who went into marriage with a child.

Two years ago, I started something with Solomon. It has grown to a level where marriage is the next step. Solomon has his shortcomings, just like I have mine, but he’s a gracious human being. He accepts me and my child as part of himself and is ready to go all the way with us. When I told Solomon that Denis had come back, he advised me to allow him into the child’s life, which I think is okay. But my mom is insisting that I marry Denis so we can begin again where we left off.

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Because of that, she’s giving Solomon an attitude. I know what to do. I’m looking for a new place to rent. When I finally move out, I’ll handle the situation my way, without my mom’s influence. I know who I want, and it’s not Denis. Even if my relationship with Solomon fails, Denis wouldn’t be someone I turn to.

Am I making the right decisions?

—Juliet

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