I was three months pregnant when my husband asked me to go to my parents. According to him, our first pregnancy needed to be cared for like a seed, and he wouldn’t be able to support me the way my experienced parents would. I told him, “It’s only three months—why should I go this early?”

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

I said no. He said yes. I stayed without leaving. From then on, he stopped helping with anything he used to help with. He would watch me fetch water and do heavy lifting. When I complained, he would say, “That’s why I told you to go to your mom.” I would wash and fold clothes, and he would sit and stare. I would be on my feet for several hours cooking, and he would sit and stare.

Those things didn’t bother me at all. I saw them as exercise, even though I needed his help like he used to give me. At seven months, he called my mom and told her to come for me. My mom called and asked if I was having a hard time. I said no.

I was very angry. I didn’t know why he wanted to send me away from my own matrimonial home because I was pregnant. I told him, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay here, give birth, and spend my maternity here. At worst, my mom would come over—not me going to her.”

So he started coming home very late from work and said work was getting tighter and schedules were changing. He even said he would be traveling a lot because of the new schedule. His job didn’t involve any traveling, but all of a sudden, he started having assignments out of town and would go and spend two or three days away.

When I was eight going on nine months, I asked my mom to come over. Unfortunately, that was exactly when my dad started getting sick. When my mom couldn’t come, I had to go over so she could take care of me and my dad together. “You won,” I told my husband. “Whatever you needed my absence for, you have it now—but I hope it’s a good thing.”

He came to visit on weekends. When I delivered, he came around to spend two days with me and visited on weekends twice consecutively, then stopped coming. Again, it was work and how busy he was.

One evening, I called his phone several times and he didn’t pick up. I called a neighbor to check up on him. It was late, and he was alone. The neighbor told me he hadn’t seen my husband for over three days. I said, “Oh, I’ve been speaking to him and he’s always in the house. It’s only this evening that I can’t seem to reach him.”

When he finally answered the phone, he said he had been home the whole time and had heard the neighbor knocking but intentionally ignored her. It didn’t sit well with me, so I asked the neighbor to check on him again. Again, he wasn’t in the house, but he was on the phone telling me he was there. “Talk to the neighbor if you’re inside,” I said. He refused. “Okay, just turn on the light for her to see you’re inside.” He said he wasn’t obliged to do such a thing.

My child was one week old when I went there myself in the evening after my neighbor said he hadn’t seen him for days. I got home, opened the door, and went inside. It looked like the house hadn’t been occupied for days. I called him. Again, he said he was home. I said, “I’m here, so which part of the house are you in?”

He got angry that I was using the neighbor to monitor his movement. “Why are you doing this? Why are you involving the neighbor in your marriage?” I said, “I’m here personally. I didn’t send the neighbor, so let me see where you said you were.”

He cut the call and didn’t pick up again. The next day, he came home to see us. I was so angry I didn’t want to see his face. He still insisted I was using the neighbor and even tried to report me to my parents. My dad said, “She said she was coming to see you, so it’s true she came.” He even had the audacity to tell my father that I didn’t come because he was home all that while.

So I asked someone in the neighborhood to monitor him for real—when he came home and when he left. One day, the person came with a report that he had seen where my husband goes. “He goes to a lady’s house. The lady is heavily pregnant.”

I told my mom I wanted to go back home to take care of myself because another woman was in the picture. My mom said, “You going back won’t change anything. You’ll only stress yourself.” My dad supported her, but I wasn’t going to sit down and do nothing.

So I followed my informant and located the place. It’s a town away from us but not too far—about a thirty-minute drive. Guess who I saw? He was with his ex, the lady he left for me, and she was heavily pregnant.

They were dating when the lady had the chance to travel abroad to study. She stopped calling after a few months. The next thing he knew, she had gotten pregnant for a white man. I was dating him when this lady gave birth to her second child with the white man.

I don’t know when she came back to Ghana, but somehow she had reconnected with my husband, and they were building their own family. I was shocked to find them together that evening, but the lady got up and went into the bedroom, leaving the two of us there.

I asked, “So she’s the reason you were pushing me away? Was that your plan all along? Why didn’t you tell me you wanted her so we could break up? Fine—stay.”

I thought he would run after me. I thought he would call and apologize. None of that happened for days. I was broken while I fed my baby with sour breast milk. We waited and waited for an explanation. It came weeks later. He said, “I’m sorry I put you through all that, but if you think you can’t continue with the marriage, that is also fine. I will understand.”

I shook my head. My dad asked if that was all. My mom nearly insulted him. I said nothing for weeks until I decided I wouldn’t go on with the marriage. The divorce happened quickly so he could go ahead and marry his ex.

Dating A Narcissist: Lessons From Heartbreak And Abuse

His ex gave birth and went back abroad and has not come back. Maybe he thought she was his ticket abroad since she is a U.S. citizen. She left the child with him and never looked back. He is now taking care of that child and mine. We’ve been to court when he tried to default on payments. I’m not giving him any space—not out of spite, but because he has to do what a man has to do.

Some days he tells me, “Don’t you have a little bit of empathy for me?” I smile and respond, “You don’t need sympathy. You only need to pay what you have to pay.”

—Daniella 

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.

******