When we were just lovers, I caught him cheating on me with a white lady. It wasn’t hearsay; it was something I found out with my own eyes. I had gone to his place to visit when I realized his door was locked, but there was music playing in the room. I knocked and knocked, but he didn’t open. I even called his phone, and it was ringing from inside, but he still didn’t open the door.
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Hours later, he opened the door only to see me standing there. The lady walked out of the room, greeted me, and walked away. I asked, “Is it because she’s white? You would ignore me because you now have a white lady?”
But the days ahead were filled with his apologies and regrets. He promised it wasn’t going to happen again and said he did it out of curiosity. I accepted his apology and reason. White women don’t come often. Maybe he wanted to experience how it is to be with a white woman.
When we got back together, we agreed we were never going to be intimate until I saw a better change in him. We went almost a year without intimacy. I saw the change and saw the actions and remorse, but I kept intimacy from him just to see how much he wanted it.
Two years after the affair, we got married. He said I was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he treated me like that.
Five years after marriage and two kids later, a lot changed in our marriage. It all turned into responsibilities and living to raise kids. And then at some point, he got transferred to another region. He wanted to quit his job because he didn’t want to go on the transfer, but I talked him through it and begged him to get another job before resigning.
While he was away, he came home every weekend, and then it turned into every two weeks, and then it became as and when. At some point, I missed being touched, but my husband was far away. And he wouldn’t even talk to me during those moments. It was either, “I just came from work and I’m tired,” or “I want to sleep, let’s talk tomorrow.”
So one of the church guys I was free with started getting close. I shared my insecurities and later found myself talking to him about my marriage. He’s also married, and his wife was abroad, so we could both share the experience of how we were surviving without our better halves.
He was also going through the same problem, and he shared honestly without filter. I found it alluring and enchanting, I must say. Our conversations sauntered and entered scary territories. We were talking about sex, how we missed it, and the craziest things we had done.
Church brother kept me company while my husband complained about being tired and sleepy on top of not coming home often. The only reason that delayed intimacy between me and church brother was because I was raised well and had a loud conscience.
We could talk about everything, but when it got to where the action was, I would chicken out. Not once and not twice. If I found myself in a situation I thought would make it easier for us to do bad things, I ran faster than my legs could carry me, but on the phone, I was a gangster, bragging about how I would devour him in one piece if I got him.
My husband came home one day and church brother didn’t know. He sent one of the crazy stickers, and my husband saw it on my phone. While I was busy in the kitchen putting food together, he was busy eating dinner on my phone. He read everything word for word and saw all the naughty stickers we had exchanged. He concluded something had happened.
No matter what I said, he wouldn’t believe me. “So you’re sleeping behind my back while I’m out there craving to put food on the table?”
“Show me where in the messages you saw that we had done something,” I defended myself. “It’s just conversation. I admit I didn’t do well. I’m married, but I was just lonely.”
I pleaded with everything in me. He later said until he spoke to church brother, he wouldn’t forgive me. I did the hardest thing I had to do. I told church brother. He said no. He said he could do it on the phone but not physically. My husband demanded a physical meeting. Church brother was scared that something might happen. I was scared too, looking at the anger in my husband’s eyes. He finally agreed to have the conversation on the phone.
I wasn’t there to listen. I was too ashamed to listen to my sins being played in the open. After their conversation, we had our own. He made me swear that nothing happened. He even said he would make me do it with eggs, which he later didn’t. When I asked if he had forgiven me, he said he would think about it.
Anytime he calls, he asks me if I’m still talking to church brother. When I say I’m not, he doesn’t believe me. He would ask, “So you’re telling me you two never had sex after everything you guys discussed?” I say, “I cross my heart and hope to die. Nothing happened.”
He would leave it there only to raise it again a few days later. I’m not saying forgiveness should be very easy, but a year later, I expected to see growth and changes, but no. My husband still talks about the same issue and asks the same questions I’ve always answered. We hadn’t been intimate until weeks ago. I cried and begged him to do it with me. It was lousy and short, but better than none.
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I forgave his infidelity without holding it against him. I’m not saying it’s the reason I cheated or justifying my actions, but I forgave him without looking back, so why is he still holding on to something as old as time? Will he ever forgive and move on from here? Our marriage has stalled. No growth in the past year. All we do is take care of the kids without taking care of ourselves.
Will he ever forgive me so we can have this marriage again? Or is it forever going to be like this?
