About forty years ago, his father and my mother were lovers: teenage sweethearts whose world was once full of promise. But life happened, and they went their separate ways.

My mom moved on. She married my dad, but he passed away, and for twenty-three years, it has been just her, my sister, and me. We built our little world together.

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Then suddenly, my mom became excited. Not that she hasn’t been a joyful woman, but there’s a kind of excitement that new love brings to your face, and my mom had that glow. So when she finally told us about him, a man from her past, we were genuinely happy for her.

One afternoon, we went to his house for a casual visit, and that’s when I saw Prince: his son.

He was cute. I stole glances at him the whole time, and when he gave me his number, I didn’t hesitate to give him mine. We started talking. Just friends of former lovers, nothing seserious, until he proposed.

I should’ve been excited. He was charming, the conversation flowed, and we matched so well that it almost felt meant to be. So I said yes.

We got close. We got intimate. All this while, we had forgotten about our parents and the possibility that they might have been intimate too. When we found out, we broke things off.

Soon after, I realised I had been infected.

Prince swore it wasn’t from him, but I knew my body. I test regularly, I am careful, and I hadn’t been with anyone else since January. Who else could it have been?

I didn’t ask him for money. I didn’t create drama. I handled it quietly and moved on.

Then one morning, my phone was full of missed calls from an unknown number. When I called back, a woman’s voice answered.

“Do you know Prince? Who is he to you?”

“He’s just my friend,” I said.

She didn’t stop there. She told me she had seen my message about the infection on his phone. I didn’t lie. I told her it was from long ago and that Prince and I were no longer together. I thought that would end the conversation.

But no, she started spilling everything: other women, screenshots, lies. She said she wouldn’t have called any of us if Prince had just admitted to cheating, but his constant denial pushed her to find answers.

I later learned she called five women. I was the only one who picked up and told the truth. The others denied everything or ran back to Prince to warn him.

Now he’s angry.

He says I betrayed him. He says I should’ve called him first so we could play games on her together.

Bold of him to say, especially after infecting me and pretending he didn’t.

Now his father is involved, and his girlfriend is still fighting. I’ve been warned that Prince has been shouldn’t come near me again, somehow, I’m now the one being blamed for the fire in their garden.

But here’s my question: am I wrong for telling the truth? For answering a call and explaining that the message was old, that I’m not involved with Prince anymore?

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I refuse to be dragged into a mess I didn’t create. I refuse to be silent while someone paints me as a liar. I told the truth, and I stood in honesty.

If that’s a crime, then what does that say about the rest of them?

 

—Mariam

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