I’ve been married for six years now, but honestly, I feel like I’m living in a prison, one I built with my own hands. Before I got married to my husband, Alex, we dated for about three years. He was sweet, protective, and caring but also extremely insecure. He always wanted to know where I was, who I was with, and what I was doing. If I didn’t pick up his call after two rings, he would start accusing me of seeing someone else. I used to think it was because he loved me too much.

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Then one day, I met a man, Kojo. He started hitting on me with money, but honestly, it wasn’t about the money. I know how this sounds, but I didn’t cheat for material things. I cheated out of curiosity. I wanted to know what it felt like to be with someone who trusted me completely, who didn’t question my every move, who made me feel like I was enough. Just one night with Kojo. That’s all it took to ruin everything.

When Alex found out, I thought he was going to leave me. He screamed, “Why did you do it? Is it because of his money?” I shook my head in tears. He asked solemnly, “Was he big? Bigger than me?” Through sobs I asked, “How do you want me to answer this question? I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t know what came over me. It’s curiosity, trust me.”

He cried, I cried, and he said he forgave me. I thought that was love. I thought if he was willing to stay after I cheated on him, it meant he truly loved me. So, when he proposed two years later, I said yes. I wanted to prove to him that I was done with my past and ready to commit to a future where he was the only person my heart beats for. But I didn’t know what I was saying yes to.

After we got married, I noticed tiny black dots in the corners of our home. I thought they were smoke detectors, but they weren’t. Alex had installed CCTV cameras in almost every part of the house, even in the kitchen. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to start another argument.

Then it got worse.

Sometimes, when I was going to work, I’d notice the same motorbike following me. Every day. I thought it was a coincidence until one day I told the taxi I was in to take another direction. The rider followed and I could see his eyes fixed on the taxi through his helmet.

I told Alex about it that evening, and you know what he said? “Maybe it’s in your head, Benewaa. You’ve been acting suspicious lately.” Another day, I realized he had placed a recorder on my phone. Every conversation I had was being recorded and listened to. Even my calls with my mother. It didn’t stop there.

When I had our first baby, my husband secretly conducted a DNA test on him. I found the results months later when I was searching his little bag. I didn’t even have the strength to ask questions. I told myself, “This is the price I have to pay for cheating.”

He did the same thing with our second child. Another DNA test. Each time, he said the same words: “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just need peace of mind.” I can’t breathe in my own home. Everywhere I go, there’s a camera watching me. Every word I say, he’s listening. Every person I talk to, he investigates. Sometimes I feel like I’m living under a microscope. And the saddest part is, he thinks it’s love. I won’t be surprised if he’s monitoring this story I’m writing.

Last week, I woke up around 2 a.m. and he wasn’t lying by my side. I later saw him seated in the hall busily going through my phone with a stern face. That’s when it hit me that I’m not safe. I don’t know what he’ll do the next time he finds something suspicious on my phone. I don’t know if one day, he’ll snap and decide to “punish” me for something I didn’t even do.

I used to think I was being punished by God for cheating. But now I realize this isn’t punishment. It’s possession. I’m not just a wife. I’m a suspect who sleeps beside her interrogator every night.

So I decided to end the marriage before it ends me. I have to be far away from home before I can announce my intention to divorce him. My mom is aware. She thinks I shouldn’t be worried if I have nothing to hide. She told me, “He hasn’t harmed you all this while because you’re being a good wife. Why don’t you continue being one?”

She could ask that question because she doesn’t know how it feels to sleep while cameras are watching you. Or to take a stroll outside the house when you feel you’re being followed. She too calls it love. “A man should love you that deeply to do all that,” she says, “you don’t have to be scared.”

I’ve given myself up to December. I won’t say what I’m doing or go into details, but the results will take me to freedom. Not only me, but me and my kids. No matter how sinful you’ve been, you should never have to live like a prisoner for your past mistakes.

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If I could go back, I’d never cheat. Not because of guilt, but because no mistake, no curiosity, is worth losing yourself over. And I’ve learned that sometimes forgiveness isn’t real. It’s just control in disguise. He brought me to his home just so he could control the woman that I am. But it’s not over yet. It’s a phase. This too shall pass very soon.

—Benewaa

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