We have been together for close to ten years now. We barely even dated. My father introduced him to me, and in his words, “he is a good man, know yourselves.” He said it, smiled sheepishly, and left us alone. I trusted my father’s words and gave Ken a chance.

The first time we met, pregnancy came. Ken said, “I am not a child, I want the baby. What do you want?” I wanted the same. I was not getting any younger, and if my father said he was a good man, then he was a good man. So six months later I walked into his house as his fiancée. He came to see my family, did the knocking ceremony. The plan was to do the wedding after the baby was born, together with the naming ceremony.

After the baby arrived, I was too deep in depression to think about organising a wedding. I had no real help with the baby. Not that he was not there, he was there, just nagging. Every single day. “Oh, why does this small girl take so much shit?” “Oh, why is this much drool coming out of such a small baby?” Questions and expectations piled on a brand new mother every day. So I started begging God to give him a job and take him away. He is a contractor. Get him a contract, let him leave. It was better to watch him go than sit there and be worn down daily.

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The nagging was exhausting. It really was. It is not even that I was not appreciative of his presence. If I am being honest, his presence irritated me to the core. We both did together, yet I am the only one who has to suffer the consequences of these feelings.

The second baby came too, same story. I expected him to know better by now but he was still hovering, still breathing down my neck. I was supposed to be grateful. That version of me was hard to find.

And I will say this, he is a good father. He could be a better fiancé. He does not want more children, and right now I am showing signs that I could be pregnant again, and he is not having it. We have had all our children through C-sections. Painful recovery, painful healing, painful everything. After the second one he warned me to be careful. He said if I dared get pregnant again, he would return me to the streets. I keep wondering where the good man my father spoke of disappeared to. Is this not exactly the moment to show it?

I do not want to be pregnant either. After two C-sections, I do not have the strength to go under the knife again, and honestly, it is not even advisable. But I am scared. Scared that this vomiting, this nausea, and this dizziness are telling me something I am not ready to hear.

He has not asked a single question. He is just moving around the house with careful steps, like he is afraid he will crack the tiles. To make his point clear, he has moved to the hall. He carries his blankets there once the girls fall asleep and sneaks back in before they wake up.

I Left Him Because He Didn’t Help In The Kitchen

 

I have not taken the test yet, obviously. But these signs are too familiar. Too similar to the first two times. I do not understand why he gets to be the only one who is scared. I am furious and terrified too, but are we not supposed to face this together? Whatever is coming, are we not supposed to meet it side by side?

I do not want to think about the alternative. It is too heavy. I cannot even go there yet.

—Claude

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