This is our first pregnancy after two years of marriage. We were both happy and even danced around the room when the test kit showed positive.

For the first few months, my husband treated me like an egg that was about to drop. He would fetch water for me to bathe, cook breakfast on weekends, and even attempt to do the washing for us.

I was very excited when he did all that. Of course, I didn’t sit and watch him do everything. The pregnancy was still young, and I was very strong, so I helped with the cooking, washing, and everything else he attempted to do for us.

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I started feeling the weight of the pregnancy from the fifth month. I felt uneasy and almost dizzy every morning when I woke up.

Whenever I complained about the uneasiness, he would tell me I was behaving like a spoilt child. He would question my strength as a woman and ask me, “Are you the only woman to get pregnant? Or are you carrying metal in your tummy?”

He stopped doing everything he had done from the beginning and replaced it with complaints and bitterness.

When I spat incessantly, he said I was despicable and shouldn’t get close to him when he was eating.

One day, he stopped eating, went to the dustbin, and threw his food away because I spat while he was eating.

Then he turned to me and said, “I won’t allow you to use this small pregnancy to disturb my peace in this house. I will throw you out one day.”

I cried that day like a child.

“It’s not my fault. I have no control over my body. Why are you treating me this way?”

I cried while he walked out of the door.

I saw him later in the evening.

When I dressed up to leave for work, he accused me of looking like a dinosaur. He expected me to apply makeup and lipstick “just like other women do,” but in my state, everything around me smelled bad, even the cream I used on my body.

I’m currently eight months pregnant, and just yesterday, he said I should take early leave from work and go to my parents in the Western Region.

What did I do?

I was feeling very hot one afternoon, so I took off my dress and lay on the floor where the fan could blow directly on me.

When he walked in, he shouted, “What’s that? What’s all this about? Imagine I came to this house with a visitor. Is this what he would’ve come to see? My wife lying on the floor like a zombie? Are you sure it’s a human being you’re carrying?”

I didn’t hold back.

“Enough of the disrespect. I didn’t make myself this way. Why are you making me feel like I’m not human in your eyes?”

The exchange got heated, and he eventually started packing my things and arranging them together.

He said, “Take them and leave. Go and live with your parents and show them all these crazy things. I’m tired of you.”

I actually wanted to leave.

Had it not been for my job, I would have left that very day. And I swear, if I ever left, I wouldn’t have returned again.

I told him, “I have a job to protect. Otherwise, I would have left.”

He screamed, “Go for early leave and leave my house. What is all this?”

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My plan was to bring my mom here when my time was due, but I’ve changed my mind. I would rather go there and stay until my maternity leave is over.

When I return, I will plan my future without including him, and this will be our last baby together, unless he agrees to carry the next pregnancy for nine months.

I’ve learned a bitter lesson, and I don’t think this lesson will make me a sweet person again in this marriage.

—Jessica 

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