My boyfriend was in Germany. We dated for three years before he travelled. I was twenty-three when he travelled. He made me promise that no matter what, I was going to wait for him. He went to Germany, and we talked every day and night. Not a single day passed that he wouldn’t text, call, or video call me. He said we were meant to shine in wedding attire while our rings gleamed on our fingers. I believed him because he made it so easy.

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Three years later, he came back to Ghana. I had matured so much in loving him that I told him I was ready to marry him the next day. We hugged and never let go. Later that night, I was in his room and ended up spending a whole week with him. He travelled to see his parents for two weeks and came back to spend the next one week with me before he travelled back to Germany.

On the night before he left, he promised he was going to marry me on his return, which was going to be a year. I cried in his arms, with dreams falling down my eyes. I kept saying I couldn’t wait. He kept telling me the future lived next door and we could walk and knock on its door.

A few weeks after he left, I discovered I was pregnant. I watched the test kit keenly for several minutes, as if I didn’t understand what I was staring at. Instead of fear came calm. Instead of “What the hell is this?” I said, “Wow, I’m pregnant.” Instead of fear, I smiled hopefully.

I texted him with the test kit as an attachment. I said, “Look what you made me—a mother.” He texted back quickly, “Really, you are pregnant? Glad to know what we did yielded positive results.”

He called afterwards. We talked about what we were going to do to secure the pregnancy and also what we had to do going forward. He said he was going to send his family over to my family house so they could do the knocking rite. He told me he would be home after delivery, name the child, and get married to me properly.

Plans and dreams are beautiful. They make your heart cheer and give you this confidence that even though tomorrow can be uncertain, you have a piece of tomorrow that promises nothing but certainty. I knew I was going to get married to him, so I walked confidently to my parents and told them I was pregnant. Dad was disappointed, but he melted a little when I said the man’s family would come around very soon to perform the knocking rite.

I was two months pregnant and still, the knocking rite hadn’t happened. He said his dad was busy or his mom had travelled or their family head was being unrealistic. One excuse after the other until he finally told me not to expect the knocking rite. When I asked why, he said his dad wanted to do everything together once I’d delivered. It bothered me, but it was coming from him, so I remained calm.

I was six months pregnant when I got the news that another lady was pregnant for my boyfriend. She was Alberta. We were in the same church with her. We were not friends, but we knew each other and respected each other a lot. While my boyfriend was in Ghana, he was seeing her too and left her pregnant just like he left me.

I called to ask him. He denied it and told me not to listen to the gossip. He said, “Alberta knows I’m dating you, so how can she get pregnant for me? It’s a lie.”

The source couldn’t be wrong. I went on a deep dive for information and got all that I needed to know, including screenshots where my boyfriend was accepting the pregnancy. When I sent that to him, he mellowed. He said he didn’t want to disrespect me, which was why he lied about it.

Guess what? I wasn’t angry. I had come to live with the fact that he had gotten another woman pregnant. I asked him the way forward, and he said he would take the child, but I’m the one he was going to marry. I didn’t believe him, but I was hopeful he was telling me the truth.

I went for antenatal, and there was something wrong with my baby. They said they couldn’t get a heartbeat. I told the doctor to find it wherever the heartbeat was. I went home, returned days later, and he asked if I felt a kick, and I said no. They checked again—no heartbeat. He said the child was dead inside me, but I laughed at him. Against his advice, I went home with the pregnancy, and all night I sang, hoping my song would wake him up from his long sleep and I would feel a kick. It never happened.

I was on the phone with him, crying hot tears for losing my unborn child. He didn’t know what to say to console me. He said a few words and added, “God knows what He does, and we can’t question Him.”

I screamed, “I will question Him. Why must He take what I love from me? I will ask this question every day until one day I see Him face to face.”

I was forced into labour and delivered a stillborn. Alberta gave birth a few days later to a boy. I was red with envy and jealousy. I questioned God again, “God, why?”

He stopped calling as often as he did. He missed my calls and never returned them. All his attention was on Alberta, and I understood it. Aside from that, I became a laughingstock. They called my situation natural selection, meaning my child died so it would be easier for him to choose Alberta. Alberta herself said he didn’t belong to me; that was why my child died.

I was in my room crying when I heard that he had sent his family to perform the knocking rite followed by marriage. By then, he was not picking my calls, and we hadn’t talked for weeks. I knew my days with him had come to an end, but I wanted to hear it from him. Instead, I heard it from Alberta. He told her, and she told her friend, and her friend came to tell me that we were over long ago, but I didn’t know it.

I cut my losses and decided to live life wherever it took me. It hurt so bad, but what could I do apart from moving on? I heard when they got married. I saw the photos. He wasn’t in Ghana but was soon represented. I heard when he tried to work out a visiting plan for her so later she could stay permanently.

Seven years later, Alberta is still here. She’s no longer wearing her ring. He abandoned her the way he abandoned me. No more calls, and all the dreams they had fell mid-flight like mine. Currently, he doesn’t even send money for the child’s upkeep. He’s been a deadbeat since the child was one. I see her in church, and she’s no longer as flowery as she used to be. She has wilted.

I’m not happy for her fall. It’s not her fault that he lied to her, but at least it gives me a glimpse of what my life might have been if I had given birth to a living child. I might have been that broken woman with a deadbeat father. I now believe what he told me the day my child died: “God knows what He does. We can’t question His ways.”

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I no longer question God because when He took him out of my life and I cried and grew thin, He gave me a new man. And this new one is the one who is married to me, and we have a child we are raising. He is ever-present, like I wanted my man to be, and he takes care of us the way it pleases God. I’ve learned not to question God but instead trust His ways.

—Asantewaa

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