I met him when he was a virgin. I thought it was religious, but he said it wasn’t religious, but more for moral reasons. I told him I didn’t want to be with someone who had zero knowledge of intimacy, so he should go and learn and come back. It was a joke. We laughed about it.

I loved his personality and how he easily made me laugh. I fell for those little things, though I had doubts about whether indeed he was a virgin as he claimed.

One hot afternoon, I took him to my place and asked him to show me what he had. The kiss was cold. He didn’t know what to do with his tongue. You could see from the way he handled the whole thing that he hadn’t done it before or he knew very little about it.

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So I took my time with him to teach him what I knew and also taught him how I wanted to be treated during intimacy. In my mind, I’d gotten a cub and was training it to listen to my voice and do as I said. We dated for two years, and in these two years, I saw a man who had grown sexually mature and also emotionally stable. The only red flag about him was how he became addicted to me.

We got married. He was twenty-eight, and I was twenty-seven. When we moved in together, intimacy was every day. I had this impression that once we had stayed together for a few months, we were going to have had enough of each other and relax.

I was wrong. This man wanted it every day. If I said no, he grew moody. I told him, “Yes, I love you and would want to do it every day, but it’s not possible. Life is not always about intimacy.”

If we were not able to do it for a few days, this guy would treat me like I was not doing it with him because I was doing it with another person. He would go through my phone, he would go through my bag, and ask unnecessary questions.

Then I got pregnant. I used the pregnancy as an excuse sometimes. At night, when I was not in the mood, I would start complaining of abdominal pain right when we got to bed, or sometimes I would start from work before I got home. He would understand me, but that wouldn’t stop him from being moody.

When I was about seven months pregnant, he took it by force. We had gone for two weeks without it, and he grew desperate. It wasn’t intentional. I had joint pains. I had abdominal pain. My pelvis could feel like it was coming apart.

That night, when he approached, I lifted my hand and turned away from him. He snarled and started forcing his way in. I was scared of harming the baby, so at some point, I allowed him to have his way. I cried all night out of pain while he slept soundly.

So even when I was in pain, for fear of harming the baby, I allowed him. I delivered through CS. He was so happy because I didn’t harm the kingdom by allowing the baby through. Before we were discharged, I connived with one of the nurses and asked her to advise us to stay off intimacy for three months.

The nurse did a masterful job explaining the dangers of doing it too soon and how it would affect my reproductive health. She said, “Our husband, please exercise patience until she tells you she’s ready, or else a lot of things can go wrong.”

On our way home, he asked me, “Did you tell the nurse anything about us?” I said no. He asked, “Is that what they do to all couples who come to deliver here?” I said I didn’t know.

Three days later, he had started kissing my neck at dawn and pushing his hands below. I pulled away. I asked him, “Have you forgotten what the nurse said?” He said he had done his own research, and they said since I didn’t give birth vaginally, he could go there as soon as possible.

We exchanged words throughout the night. The next morning, I moved into my mother’s room. She had visited to help out. My husband wore a frown the whole day and didn’t even speak to my mom. My mom knew something was wrong, so she said I should go back to sleep there. And that night, he started forcing his way in again. I had no strength to fight. So I screamed, and my mom came to knock at the door.

He slapped my face and whispered that I should keep quiet. He shouted to my mom, “She’s fine. Just a bad dream.”

My mom didn’t leave, especially when the baby started to cry. She asked me to give her the baby, and when I walked out, I didn’t go in again. I told my mom, “Get ready. Tomorrow, we leave here.”

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It was less than a week after delivery. We waited until he was out, and we left the house. He reported a missing baby at the police station and blamed my mom for the escape. I didn’t want to talk, but at the police station, I behaved like a woman possessed. One policewoman began crying after hearing everything I had to say.

When we got home, my dad asked, “Would you go back to this marriage again?” My mom responded, “She would have to go with her casket then.”

He has come to apologize to my parents and to me, but I wake up with doubt and fear every morning about this marriage. I’m tired, but it’s also too soon to get tired. Some days, I give him one more chance in my head, and then everything flashes before my eyes, and I say, “No, I’m not going back.”

—Adelaide

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