Twumasi started showing interest in me when we worked on that project together. He called me more often than necessary. He texted even when he had no reason to. Anyone who has ever been chased by a man knows exactly what that kind of effort means. It was more than friendliness. It was interest. It was intention. One day he invited me out and I went. By then, I already knew he liked me and I had also grown fond of him. I was lonely, and my heart had been empty for too long. He filled a space I did not even realise was aching until he began to talk to me the way he did.

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

Because I did not want any surprises, I told him about my child. My boy. My first love. The child I had with an ex who left the responsibility to me alone. Twumasi also told me he was married. He said it was only a traditional marriage and that was why he did not wear a ring. My heart dropped. I wanted to walk away but I did not. My heart had already started choosing him and I could not stop it. I told myself I had gone too deep to come back empty handed. So when he proposed to me weeks later, I said yes. I am not proud of it but I said yes.

We dated seriously for four months. During that time, I started noticing small cracks in the stories he told me. He said his marriage was traditional but that was a lie. They had done a full church wedding eight years before, and they had four children together. He told me his wife lived abroad. Another lie. His wife was living in Ghana and not only that, they were living together in her father’s house. It felt like someone was peeling lies off him one by one and revealing a stranger.

We talked about all these issues but I still did not leave. He had shown love to my son in ways that softened my heart. He never came to my house empty handed. He bought things for my child. He checked in often. He made me feel wanted. I had been lonely for too long and every kind gesture felt like water to someone who had been thirsty for years. That made it hard for me to walk away.

Before our relationship reached one year, I got pregnant. I knew he would ask me to get rid of it so I prepared my mind. Surprisingly, he said something different. He told me he would not tell me what to do, that if I wanted the child, he would support me. Then he added that no one from his family must ever know. He said it was because of the situation. Secret love. Secret child. Secret everything. He promised to be there but in secret.

I should have known better but I accepted it. I had gone through pregnancy alone before. It was painful but I survived. I told myself I could survive again if that was what life brought my way. When the day came, I gave birth to a beautiful boy. I was full of joy. My heart expanded. I thought he too would be full of joy.

Instead, he started complaining. Twumasi said he wanted a girl. He told me he already had three boys and one girl with his wife so he needed another girl. He started picking on me for something I could not control. He kept repeating that I already had a boy so I should not have given birth to another boy. I reminded him I did not determine the sex of a child but he continued throwing comments that made me see a side of him I had not seen before.

When he came a week after the child was born, he looked at my son like he was inspecting a stranger. He said, “All my kids have my eyebrow, why does this one doesn’t have it?” Another day he was like, “As for this child, he doesn’t resemble me at all. What happened?” Those comments chipped at my heart. I asked him directly if he was suggesting the child was not his. He responded, “I haven’t said that. It’s you who is saying it.” The insults were subtle, wrapped in observation, but they were insults. We fought. He apologised but the damage was done.

He stopped supporting us. Even my hospital bills, I paid myself. Anytime I asked for money he said he had paid fees for his children and did not have money left. If one of his kids sneezed in his wife’s house, he claimed he had spent money on them and could not support me. He treated me and my child like leftovers. Like crumbs.

I still did not complain because I had handled motherhood alone before. I knew the drill. I could do it again. I kept quiet until the day he came after not visiting for three months. He looked at my son and said, “He’s grown to resemble your son a lot. Eiii what is happening?” That was when something inside me snapped. “If you think he’s not your son, say it and also stop coming here,” I said. “It’s better that way than always finding an excuse to insult me and my child.”

He responded, “The way you’re getting angry tells me what I’m suspecting is true. You had this child with your baby daddy and you’re pushing it on me, right?” How come he resembles your son and not me?”

I sacked him from my house that day and told him never to come around again. “I’ve done this before. You think I can’t do it again? What have you done for me lately apart from insults and humiliation?”

He left my house and hasn’t come back again. He doesn’t even call but when I post on my status, he would be the first to watch it. Something in me knew we would get to this point but I never thought it would happen this way. That he would call the child as not his. That’s what makes me angry. That’s what bursts my emotions anytime I think of it. And once he’s not ready to change his mind, I want to force him to the right thing.

I want justice. I want him to face the truth. I want to walk to his house one day, carrying my son in my arms, and tell him, “Now compare this boy to all the boys you have here and see if he doesn’t resemble you” If he still doubts, he can do DNA. He has the money so he cannot use excuses. I want him to be forced to face what he has destroyed. But fear stops me.

Is There A Perfect One Out There For Everyone?

I think of it and I know it’s the right thing to do but I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll hurt my child if I do that. I’ll expose him to danger and humiliation and name calling he doesn’t deserve. It’s the only reason I still haven’t gone ahead to show up but maybe one day, anger will push me to do it and when I do, maybe, finally, I will have peace.

—Francess

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.

*****