In secondary school, I sat at the back of the classroom among the “bad boys” of the school. I didn’t belong there, not really. My parents were well-to-do but I was from the village, while my friends were city kids with swagger and stories I could only dream of. Nonetheless, I wanted to fit in. And that desire led me down a path I never expected.

My friends were the kind of guys parents and teachers warned their wards to stay away from. They smoked behind the school building, talked about girls like they were trophies, and bragged about their weekend escapades.

At first, I didn’t indulge. I only listened, nodded along, and cheered them on. Before long, I found myself doing whatever they asked. If they wanted someone to sneak out of school and buy cigarettes, I was their guy. If they needed a distraction during class so they could cheat on a test, I was there. I told myself it was harmless, even though deep down, I knew I was losing myself.

By my senior year, their influence had fully taken hold. I was skipping classes, smoking marijuana, and even getting into fights. The school was strict, and two of my friends were expelled for breaking the rules. Everyone expected me to be next, but somehow, I always managed to slip through the cracks. I told myself I was lucky every time I got away with breaking the rules.

There was a guy in our school named Kwame, the star football player. He was tall and handsome. Everyone admired him. He had a girlfriend who lived in another town. Her name is Ama. Phones were not allowed in school but I had one. So Kwame who didn’t have a phone used my phone to talk to his girlfriend.

Ama didn’t know that Kwame was using my phone. So sometimes he told me to respond to her texts as though I were him.

I didn’t think it was a big deal. I would text Ama, and tell her how much I missed her. She used to send Kwame airtime and cash. Every time she did, I got something out of it. So I started to enjoy it.

The more I pretended to be Kwame, the more I got to know Ama better. I hadn’t met her yet but I decided she was sweet and funny. Sometimes I found myself looking forward to her messages even.

As time went on, Kwame and Ama broke up. By then I had gotten attached to her so I didn’t remove myself from the equation. I let her know who I was and we arranged to meet.

I just wanted to put a face behind the face. Somehow this curiosity led me to do more than look at her. We got touchy with each other and ended up doing it. From there, we kept seeing each other.

It was all fun and games until Ama called me after a few months together, with news that she was pregnant. My heart sank. I was only 17. How could I be anyone’s father at that age? “That pregnancy is not mine,” I told her.

She swore it was mine. She did everything possible to get me to take responsibility but I wasn’t ready to face the consequences of my actions. So I insisted it wasn’t me who knocked her up.

When the baby was born, the courts ordered a DNA test, and it was confirmed. I was the father. Instead of doing what was required of me, I panicked and blocked Ama’s number.

I knew blocking her wouldn’t be enough to absolve me of my responsibilities. So I packed my bags and fled the country. My parents funded everything.

I turned over a new leaf after I moved away. Many years later, I managed to make something out of my life. I went to school, studied hard, and became an engineer.

Currently, I’m married to a beautiful woman that I am head over heels in love with. We have two wonderful children together.

Although my life was good and peaceful for a long time, I could never forget about Ama and the child I left behind. They were a reminder of my foolish mistakes.  And I always wondered how they were doing.

Eventually, I didn’t have to wonder anymore. Ama reached out to me. She said, “I moved to the States recently and I found out that coincidentally, we are in the same State. Can we meet? We need to talk.”

My heart raced at the thought of seeing her. I didn’t know what to do. Meeting her could mean facing legal action for neglecting my child, but ignoring her felt wrong too. So in the end, I decided to meet her.

We sat in a small café. The years hadn’t done much to her. She was still as energetic, youthful, and sweet as the girl I once hid in the shadows to do adult things with. We were both too nervous for small talk but we tried. Something about the weather, the culture of the place, and some forced laughter one too many times. Then she started talking about the past.

I remember the air, thick with tension. I expected her to rant and scream at me for abandoning her. But what she did shocked me.

She looked at me with tears in her eyes and told me, “I still haven’t gotten over you after all these years. You are the only man I have always wanted.” I felt a mix of emotions; confusion, fear, guilt, and deep regret.

After the long talk, I decided I would stop running away and start being responsible for the child we both had together. I knew I had lost precious years but it was better late than never.

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My problem now is that I am beginning to have a change of heart. I am thinking about everything she said and it doesn’t make sense. She is supposed to be angry. She is supposed to rain curses on me. Instead, she professed her undying love for me.

She told me about her troubles with men and how she never settled down. What if she is on a revenge mission? Maybe she wants me to let my guard down so she can destroy the life I built for myself, the way I as payment for running away from her.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

So I am planning to get away from her again. I am saving some money so I can convince my wife to let us move to another State. She doesn’t know about Ama and I would like to keep it that way.

Am I right to think Ama is plotting to pay me back for abandoning her? Or I am just being paranoid? I feel like there is no way a woman who has been scorned would be this smooth and forgiving to the man who hurt her.

—P.K.

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