We dated for seven months and got married on the eighth. He was everything I ever hoped for; kind, supportive, and caring. Every morning brought a certain newness to our love. We grew in the dark and walked tall in the light. My mom, who had always been skeptical about the men I dated, saw Francis and said, “This looks like the one.” She wasn’t surprised when we started planning our marriage right when the relationship was that young.

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Our plans after marriage were to have children as early as possible so we could settle and do other things to grow the family, but six years later, we still didn’t have a child. The problem was me. I had a condition that made it difficult for us to conceive. It wasn’t impossible but very difficult. I had a forty percent chance, which in the beginning we thought wasn’t that bad, but after six years, eyes started rolling.

My husband didn’t change. He still sought my happiness and put me on the same pedestal he had always placed me. Whatever I needed, he provided. Whatever he needed, I provided. I provided the material support and the affection without a struggle, but I couldn’t give him a child, which at some point I realized worried him.

I told him, “Get another woman pregnant. Just be honest with her. If she agrees, get her pregnant and have a child while we wait and see what may come out of us.”

He was shocked I could suggest such a thing. He thought I’d given up on our love. He thought it was my way of saying the marriage was over. I told him, “I see you worry a lot though you try to hide it. I won’t be selfish and keep your happiness at bay. Do it. I’ll always support and love you.”

He said it was difficult. I said it was, but he should give it a try. Eventually, he agreed to do it. He found a woman. He told me when he did, but he said it was disrespectful, so he was going to keep the rest of the information to himself.

He still didn’t change. He came home when he ought to. He provided like the man he was. He loved me like we’d married yesterday. He started sleeping better—I noticed it. He didn’t slip into his thoughts as often as he used to. I was happy for him but sad for myself. I prayed. I obeyed the doctors. I did everything to increase my chances of conception.

When the lady got pregnant, he told me. He didn’t say it like he was happy about it. I asked, “So why aren’t you celebrating? This isn’t a funeral announcement. You’re going to be a father.” He responded, “It should have been with you and not another woman.”

I pushed him to be happy, but when I was left alone, I entered the bathroom and cried my heart out. I was scared. I knew he loved me, but what if the child changed the dynamics of our marriage? While crying, I prayed to God that He should do for me what His words have said in my life.

We made plans about the unborn child together. We even selected names together. Yet I didn’t know the woman. I knew her name but not who she was. I asked him, “Can I see a photo of her?” He answered, “I don’t have a photo of her.” “What about her social media?” I requested. He shook his head: “It’s better you don’t know. Pretend she doesn’t exist because you’re the only one who exists in my world.”

He would get a call from her and go outside to receive it. He just didn’t want me to know, so I went with it.

When the lady was supposed to be four months pregnant, my husband came home in the evening looking distraught. He couldn’t sit for a second without squirming in his seat. He kept slipping into thought and would talk on the phone with anger written on his face. When I asked what the problem was, he told me it was something about work.

“Since when did you stop talking to me about your work? What’s going on there? Who are you fighting with?”

He said he was fighting with his boss, and then he changed the story, saying he was fighting about an entitlement due him but was denied. I knew him. I knew when he was sleeping well and when he was pretending to sleep. He breathed lightly and sighed often when he was pretending to be asleep. At dawn, I tapped him and said, “You’re not sleeping. Would you just share with me so we carry the burden together?”

“I caught her in bed with another man,” he answered.

I screamed, “What?”

“Yeah, four days ago. She didn’t know I was visiting. She was naked. The man was naked too and walking in the room.”

My husband had always been the gentle type. He said he didn’t say anything; he rather apologized and walked away. Later, the lady called and was angry, asking him why he decided to ruin her relationship with the man who got her pregnant. And then she told my husband she wasn’t a fool to allow a married man to impregnate her.

I could understand why he was worried. It was about the baby and not so much about the relationship he had with her. He had spent a lot on the pregnancy and was giving the lady a monthly allowance to ensure she lacked nothing. I asked what next, and he told me, “I’ll wait until she delivers and then carry out a DNA test.”

After talking about it, he slipped into sleep, and this time it was real. He snored feebly like a tired child.

This issue he spoke lightly about became a huge problem. The other man wanted to charge my husband for sleeping with his woman. He tried to scare my husband with curses and all that, saying my husband had been sleeping with a pregnant woman for rituals. We only stayed calm and prayed. I blamed myself. I was the one who pushed him into the affair.

The lady delivered, and the DNA test was carried out and indeed, my husband wasn’t the father. Now, he stopped thinking about his own hurt and started thinking about how the other man was going to take it and how he must have destroyed the child’s future because, obviously, the other man wouldn’t continue the relationship.

Guess what? After everything that happened, my husband paid the hospital bills and continued sending her money, making sure she was alright. He didn’t do it secretly. I knew about it. Though I didn’t support him, looking at everything the lady put him through, I realized he had a reason, so I allowed him.

About a year later, I went to the hospital to check for malaria and tested negative. The nurse said she was going to test for pregnancy, and I told her not to waste her time. She went ahead anyway, and it came out positive. I was pregnant and didn’t know. Apart from feeling feverish, nothing changed in my body.

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Right at the hospital, I called my husband to tell him. He said, “You know this is an expensive joke, right?” I screamed, “Who tells jokes while screaming?” I’ve never seen a man this happy about a pregnancy. He wouldn’t let me do anything. The only thing I did was bathe. The rest was in his hands.

Today, after all the troubles and name-calling and shame, we have Adom here with us, and he’s been our happiness since day one.

—Adom Maame

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