Five years ago, he was my client. He took an interest in me and made a point of talking to me every time he came around. The next time he visited, we exchanged numbers and started talking. The next thing I knew, two years had slipped by and we had fallen in love. That is how I started dating a married man. I did not plan it. Life just threw him at me.

And when life throws you a man like that, you catch him gently and then you return quietly to your seat. He is kind, the sort of man who cracks jokes until tiny tears squeeze from the corners of your eyes. He lifts me up on my heavy days, and he looks at me like I am the only woman in his entire life. He is three years younger than me, but I never had to deal with any immature situations at all.

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Before I met him, my heart had been broken for years. I had closed the door to it and thrown the key into the deepest part of the sea. The reason was that I am a single mother. After we broke things off many years ago, her father lifted all the responsibilities and dropped them right back onto my shoulders without a care in the world. He left me to figure out how to feed her, clothe her, and take her through school. Nothing. It was just easy for him to ignore me until my hope wore thin.

Somewhere in between those years, I missed out on a lot of things. I missed out on the fun. I missed out on the softness.

When this man came along, he said all the right things. At a certain point, I felt like I was being tricked because there was no way on earth he could know how to love me like that. So I turned a blind eye to his ring finger. When we were together, I pretended he was mine. Sometimes I wore rings too, just so I would not raise any suspicion. When he had to return home to his family, I would feel the hurt rising in my chest, but I swallowed it. After all, he became mine in the morning, and joy comes in the morning.

But the grass is not always greener. That is how I came to find out that I am not too special. Every woman he has come across, he has probably seen the inside of their underwear. He probably gave them the same lines he tells me, lines like, “It is sad that I did not meet you first, I would have made you my wife that instant.” I would ask, “Despite the fact that I am a single mother?” and he would reply, “Love sees beyond that.” Then he would leave a peck on my cheek and hold my hand for the rest of the drive.

This man entertains different kinds of women, and I am not talking about five women. It is a whole lot more than that.

He did not deny it. He started apologizing over and over again. He even cried, begging for my forgiveness. Just when I was thinking of forgiving him, he said something to me that made my blood run angry. He said, “I am a promiscuous man. I cannot do only you and my wife. You should learn to live with it.” My jaw dropped.

That was the end of things. I broke off all ties with him.

In the months that followed, my life turned into a storm. He went absolutely mad, running from one corner of the city to the other, desperately hunting down family and friends. Before I knew it, they all got dragged into the mess right along with us. They told me he just had one thing left to say and then we could finally part ways, so I gave in.

He told me he had broken up with most of the women, even though he was still dealing with a few tantrums from the others. He wanted me back. He said he had learned a bitter lesson. He even asked for time to sort out the wreckage of his own making so we could rekindle what we had. He promised he would follow any conditions I set, no questions asked.

It did not convince me, not even for a second, so I blocked him again. The very next morning, there he was on my doorstep, down on his knees with tears streaming down his face like a man who had truly lost everything.

He only agreed to leave when I promised to unblock him so we could finish the conversation where we had left it.

I have met him several times since that incident, just for normal chats. I honestly do not know if we are taking things slow or just standing completely still.

He is the devil dressed like an angel. Because, how on earth do you sleep with everything in a skirt? Does that not make you an animal? Granted, he can be a sweet and loving man too, but all the odds are stacked up against us so high that the light cannot even peek through.

I have been the other woman for years now. Maybe, it is about time I grow out of this chapter and become a better version of myself so my daughter does not inherit curses from some other woman’s bitter heart, or become like me.

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It will not be easy getting him to back off, so what would you people advise me to do? Not that I need the world from him. I am very comfortable on my own two feet.

— Jessica

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