Years ago, Alby was a lady I liked, but I couldn’t tell her because she was way out of my league. She dressed like a woman I couldn’t afford. The places she went, the food she ate, the kind of people she moved with were all scary. I looked so small when I thought about her life and mine, but I liked her. I was crushing on her from a distance.

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We talked when we met in church. At home, we didn’t say much to each other. One day, Nicholas, a friend of mine, snitched on me to her that I said I loved her. She came to ask if it was true. She wasn’t even smiling. I said, “Don’t mind Nicholas. He’s lying.”

From that point on she called me “my husband” and I also responded, “my wife.” The relationship between us was better than before, but I couldn’t lose my fear of her, so I didn’t propose. Years went by, we grew up in different directions and traveled to different places. I heard she was getting married. My friends teased that I’d allowed my wife to marry someone else. I wasn’t there, but I wished her well.

Five years later I went back home and saw Alby again. She still looked beautiful but mature. She has a daughter and is very much married. She was very happy to see me and I was too. We started talking again; how she called me ‘my husband’ and how I called her my wife. We are older now and nothing to fear, so I told her, “What Nicholas said was true. I was madly in love with you but couldn’t say it. You were way beyond my budget.”

I thought she was going to find it amusing, but she texted back, “It’s all your fault I’m in this terrible marriage. Why didn’t you say it? When I asked you, I was ready to say yes to you but you lied.”

We talked all night. I told her it was for the best that we didn’t end up together. “I didn’t have anything, so it was not likely we would have been together.” She answered, “Even if we didn’t, I could have used you to avoid what I’m in now.”

She called her marriage terrible and abusive in every way. The man she married is way older and because of that, she doesn’t have a say and a life in her marriage. They’ve tried to divorce twice and are just hanging by a thread.

One evening we agreed to go out. It was a bad idea, but I wanted to do something to make her happy. She asked if she was still beautiful. I said yes. She asked if I would consider her if she wasn’t married. I wanted her to be happy, so I said yes. She responded, “It’s not a good marriage I’m in, so we can start something if you’re serious. Maybe you’ll help me to leave.”

I said no. I said I didn’t like to share. I told her she should get her divorce first and be ready for whatever comes her way. She told me, “He hasn’t touched me in almost a year. I’m here with you all night. Why hasn’t he called? That should tell you the kind of marriage I’m in.”

I tried my best that night. I even blamed her action on the alcohol, but days later, she was in my room. She didn’t tell me she was coming. I tried my best to disarm the situation, but it didn’t work. She got me. She was stronger. She knew where to touch and what to show me to get me to act. I told her, “Please let’s not allow this to continue. You’re a married woman. It ends here.”

Currently, I’m the one calling for it. I’ve left town for my permanent place. As I write this, she’s been here twice in two months and whenever she was here, it was fireworks. She’s the socket and I’m the plug. We fit perfectly, and when we hug, we don’t want to separate. She tells me she wants to divorce. I tell her she can’t divorce because of me.

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The way things are going, and the way the fire is growing wild between us, I’m scared we will burn. So I’m pulling away gradually. It hurts her and it hurts me too, but it’s the best for the two of us. I’m going to leave this place when my rent is due soon. I’m going to change my number if possible. One of us has to hide so the other can’t find them. I have to be the one, so I’m doing just that.

—Fabian

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