Martin and I met in school and fell in love. It was the kind of love that did not listen to the opinions of others. We were in school and could do everything lovers without responsibility would do, so we did while building memories in the process and making promises our hearts were meant to keep.

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After school, we promised each other that we were going to do everything we could to get jobs and marry as soon as possible. When my dad, with his die-hard logic, suggested it wasn’t possible to marry Martin because we were mates, he sparked a challenge in me to prove him wrong. When I told Martin what my dad said, he responded, “Your dad hasn’t met us yet. He should wait and see.”

We found jobs that didn’t pay much, yet we decided to marry anyway. We believed we could marry poor and work our way to riches because we were two determined people. Martin came home to perform the knocking ceremony so he could get the list. While my dad spoke to Martin’s family, I looked at him and laughed quietly to myself. “How is he feeling now? Isn’t he the same person who said we couldn’t marry?”

On our first day of counseling, the counselor asked if we knew each other’s genotype. I didn’t even know mine, let alone his. We innocently responded, “We don’t know.” He said, “Then kindly check. It’s better now than to find out when you’re already married.”

I was AS, and Martin was AS. I remember meeting him that night after work and talking about the terrifying future we were about to face. In my mind, our love was too strong to be defeated by the AS genotype. He called it dangerous. I asked, “What in this life isn’t dangerous?”

I was foolishly optimistic that something good could come out of our situation, but Martin was more logical. He said, “We can’t risk it. It would be too much to bear. We might even break down under the weight of the suffering we would subject ourselves and our children to.”

We held hands one night, cried, and brought a six-year relationship to an end—not because we didn’t love each other, but because we loved each other too much to stay.

Two years later, we were still meeting occasionally to have sex and pretend we were not the same people who had let go. It felt satisfying and secretly thrilling to hold on to something fragile when there were stronger things we could have held on to. Within those two years, we had grown—we owned our own cars, lived in better places, and earned better salaries. We could have been good together, but we had to let go.

He found a girlfriend first, and that pushed me to find something of my own. I met Fii. The first question I asked him was about his genotype. He proudly said, “Oh, I’m AA. How about you?” I said I was AS, with a face that showed I felt defeated by it. He replied, “Then you’re lucky to meet me.”

I told him about Martin because he was a story I couldn’t hide. He asked if I still loved Martin, and I said no—I was ready to build something meaningful with him. Maybe I was desperate to make love work, or maybe I was just desperate to date an AA. I humbled myself completely, willing to do anything if it meant we would marry within a year.

Fii drove my car to work while I squeezed myself into taxis and trotros depending on where I was going. I had to beg him to bring my car back on weekends so I could use it. He would travel with my car, return it empty, and once I filled the tank, he would take it again. He was AA, and I believed I was lucky to have met him, so I endured it to avoid losing the chance of marrying the “right” genotype.

I thought about Martin even more whenever something went wrong in my relationship. One evening, I received a message from him. It was his wedding invitation. As I stared at it, tears began to fall. I thought I had moved on, but it turned out that six years of love isn’t something you can pack away in two years.

I gathered the courage to attend his wedding. Fii found out and became furious. That day, our relationship nearly ended. He accused me of still being obsessed with a man I had left three years ago and said he wouldn’t be surprised if I was still sleeping with him. “If I had the chance,” he said, “I would warn his wife about you. All you AS people are an ungrateful bunch.”

He wore his genotype like a badge of honor and brought it up unnecessarily, as if it had been given to him by God Himself. Then I found out I was pregnant. Surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid when I discovered it. I was happy and thought it would make him settle and decide to marry me.

When I called to tell him, he said, “You can’t have my child now. It’s too early.”

I answered, “I already have your child, so what do you mean I can’t have it? This is the time to make bold plans and take courageous steps.”

He replied, “You dated someone for six years and didn’t even miss a period for him. Just about two years with me and you want to give birth for me? Is this a trap, or are you testing me?”

I hung up and didn’t answer his calls until he came to see me. I asked for my car keys and told him to leave and only return when he had something better to say. He threw the keys at me and walked out as if he would never come back. I cried. It was my first time experiencing a relationship like that.

I didn’t hear from him for three days. Then his sister called. She said she had a secret to share. She whispered as if she were part of some secret cult. “Fii lied to you. He isn’t AA, he’s also AS. Don’t have that child.”

I laughed, thinking it was a joke. She insisted and said she could show me his official results. She even sent them on WhatsApp, but I didn’t bother to open them. Later, Fii called to confirm it and apologized for lying. He also sent proof, but I ignored it.

I called my dad and told him everything. He said, “Don’t abort. They are lying. If he doesn’t want to be in your life, that’s okay, but don’t abort.”

A week later, I found myself leaving the hospital in pain and emotional trauma after terminating the pregnancy. It wasn’t about whether they were lying or not. The thought of a child calling someone like Fii “Dad” terrified me. He didn’t want to be there, and I wasn’t going to force it, so I let the baby go.

When he later came with his sister and a friend, asking us to go to the hospital together for confirmation, I declined. He asked, “So you’re still going to keep it? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I smiled and walked away.

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Today, he knows I terminated the pregnancy, but it took him weeks of suffering and doubt, the same feelings I had endured.

I’m still single not because I haven’t received proposals, but by choice. And not a single day passes without me wondering why nature has been so cruel to me twice.

—Laura 

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