My wife just walked up to me on the sofa, raised my hand, put it around her neck, and lay down next to me. I’ve been on my phone for so long typing this story, and this is her way of drawing attention away from what I’m doing and toward herself. Not only that, but it’s also her way of asking me, “You’ve been quiet for so long on your phone. I hope there’s nothing wrong with you?” She does this a lot, and it always makes me feel seen and cared for.

I didn’t know what I was getting into the day I married her. Yeah, she was a good girl and cared so much for me during our three years of dating, but I kept asking myself, “Is that all I need in a lifelong marriage?” My mind told me I needed more, but I didn’t know what “more” meant or what I needed to see to realize that she was all I needed.

Then life began for us under a single roof the day we married. Her true colors came shining through.

In November 2015, I was seated in the hall watching TV when I received a call from my younger sister. She said, “Mom died a short while ago. You’ll need to come home quickly.” I sat at the edge of the sofa, motionless, for several minutes until my wife walked in. She sat next to me, lifted my right arm, put it around her neck, and asked, “You look tense. What’s the matter?” I responded, “Ekua called just now. My mom died.”

She was startled. Seconds later, she was crying, and that got me crying too. Mom had been sick for so long that her death was expected, but it came at the wrong time. It came at a point when I had no money and was even struggling to pay rent. I’m the eldest of two children, and a lot was expected of me. My wife already knew the situation, but she said, “It’ll be alright. We’ve got this.”

In a family where women are not allowed to speak in the presence of the elderly, it was my wife who led the way like a lioness, fixing everything and negotiating all transactions to get the best deals. Where we needed money, she pulled surprises and made some important payments. At the end of the funeral, my senior uncle told me, “Your wife is a very tough woman. Keep her well; she’ll help you.”

If I didn’t know what I was getting myself into after marriage, I knew from that point onward what I’d gotten myself into—and it was a good thing. This is a woman who always looks into my eyes when talking to me and notices the slightest sign of change or the faintest trace of worry, asking me, “Are you okay?” It’s like magic; she has never had to ask me that question without me answering, “Yeah, I’m okay.” I once asked her, “How do you always know? Am I so predictable?”

She said, “No, you’re not, but I know you too well to know when something is wrong with you.” She’s like a guardian angel who knows everything about me, and because of that, I’ve never had a reason to hide anything from her. We talk freely about everything because, with her, I feel safe. I can bring my worries out, knowing I will get the help I need.

When we got married, people said we were opposites. My wife is very expressive and outgoing. You could introduce her to someone right now, and the next minute, she’ll relate to the person as if they’ve known each other for years. I, on the other hand, am very reserved. I’d rather let things die naturally than talk about them or fight over them. Those who said my wife and I were opposites also said, “The way you’re quiet, if you’re not careful, your wife will run over you.” It turned out I needed her attitude and forthrightness to make certain decisions. She doesn’t like to wait. “Let’s do it now; why wait till later?”

We disagreed a lot in the beginning and often plunged into minor fights, but the good thing is we fought only because we cared. We learned to fight fair—no bad language and no name-calling. After each fight, the introvert in me would come out. I would coil into a corner and try to be alone. That’s when she’d walk in, lift my arm, put it around her neck, and begin to say something to make me laugh.

And I’ve come to expect it. So whenever I’m alone and I see her coming, I’ll lift my arm, and she’ll coil under it so we can begin talking.

“How would life be without her?”

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I asked myself this question on our fifth anniversary, and the answer scared me. Life would have been empty without the woman whose only desire is for me to be happy and free of problems. I would have gone through life without the friend who knows me so well that she senses the slightest change in me and vows to make it alright. Without her, I would have fought life’s battles alone and probably lost most of them. My arm would have hung in the air without a neck to drop it on—without her.

When she walked up to me on the sofa a moment ago, raised my hand, put it around her neck, and lay down next to me, she asked, “Who are you chatting with that you’re wearing such a long face?” I said, “I’m writing the story of us.” She laughed and asked, “Since when did you become a writer? Let me see what you’re writing.” I turned down the screen of the phone and prevented her from reading it. She said, “Liar!” Then she got up and walked to the kitchen.

She thought I was lying, but here is the story of us, and I hope she reads it.

—Kingsley, Ghana

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