I narrated my story to a friend and he told me I should write a movie about it. He’s not the only one who has said that. A colleague in my office told me to write a book and put my ex’s face on the cover so other men would avoid her in the future. Her name is Erica, but whenever she was angry and fighting with me, she called herself Eric. She would refer to herself in the third person while fighting.

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I’m a short and petite guy, so I’ve always loved thick and tall women. I see it as a natural balance so my kids wouldn’t inherit my size. It also protects my ego as a man to have a woman of that size next to me. I didn’t start dating tall and thick women with Erica. All my exes have been like that. It’s hard to get a woman like that to live with me because of my size, so once I get them, I love them with all my being. Even when they were toxic to me, I found a way to stay with them until the relationship ran its course.

Erica said I wasn’t her type from the beginning. She said she wanted a man her size – one she could look directly in the eye when talking, not someone she had to look down on. But I liked her spirit and fun nature, so I stuck around, proving every day why she should pick me. It worked. She said yes after a few months, and we started having the time of our lives.

She spent every weekend at my place because she lived far away. We could only see each other on weekends. As I said, when I get the woman of my taste, I give her my all, so I did the same with her. I spent on her even when I couldn’t spend on myself. On weekends when we were together, sex couldn’t stop because we both loved it.

She woke me up one dawn and asked, “Why are you cheating?” I chuckled, turned to the wall, and continued sleeping. She stood up and left the room. The next thing I heard was the sound of a bucket and then a huge splash! Wham! She poured a whole bucket of water on me, wetting the room and the bed.

She said calmly, “Now wake up and let’s talk. Why are you cheating on me?”

I thought she had gone through my phone and seen something suggesting I was talking to another woman. I checked my phone, and it was where I’d left it while sleeping. I was livid. I started screaming, “Are you crazy? Which of the spirits from your hometown is possessing you this dawn? See how you’ve messed up the place. You’ll clean it before you leave.”

She said, “Answer me before I move to the next step of action. Who’s that woman you’re cheating with? Is she better than me? Is she taller and thicker than I am? Talk before I descend on you.”

She was beginning to sound like my mother. She looked like it too, standing over me demanding answers. I answered, “All my life, I’ve never dated two women at a time, and I have no reason to start now. What are you talking about? What dream did you have while sleeping?”

She didn’t say anything else. She picked up different clothes, went to the hall, and slept on the sofa. I rushed after her, demanding answers to my questions. She became very calm, as if she wasn’t the girl who had poured water on me minutes earlier. She said, “You’re disturbing me, let me sleep. You said you’re not cheating. That’s all I wanted to know.”

That was when I should have realized something wasn’t adding up. I should have interrogated her more, but when she woke up in the morning, she cleaned the place, cooked, and asked me to forget about the incident. I let it go.

Then one Friday evening, I got home and saw her sitting in front of my door. She hadn’t called to tell me she was there. I remember calling her on my way home, but she didn’t pick up. She was seated with her bag on her lap while watching me walk toward her.

“Why are you outside? Have you lost your keys?”
“Cricket.”
“I’m talking to you, won’t you mind me?”
Silence.

I opened the door and entered. As I walked in, she threw her bag at the back of my head, and I fell against the wall. She had her laptop, phones, and other heavy items in the bag, but she didn’t care.

“Are you crazy? What has come over you?” I asked.

“You can look in the face of Eric, the whole me, and cheat on me? You think you can get away with it?”

I was manhandled that day. She attacked and tried to overpower me. I fought back but was careful not to hurt her. She started going for the zipper of my trousers. I shouted, “What are you doing? Erica, stop!” She was forcing it, so I let her. She opened my zipper, took my thing out, and sniffed it. Then she picked up her bag, attempting to hit me with it again. She said, “Did you do it raw? Say the truth. Was it raw?”

I looked into her eyes. She wasn’t the same person anymore. She had the eyes of an eagle ready to attack. I gathered all my strength and fought back—fist to fist, a huge scuffle just to free myself from her grip. I left the room and went to sit at the gate, processing what had just happened.

Several minutes later, she came out. “Won’t you come inside? Are you leaving your house for me?”

She brought me food and then water. She said, “Maybe you want the fresh air outside. Let’s sit here and eat.” She sat next to me on the floor, ate all the food, and went back inside. She texted, “Come before I lock my door?”

That day, I knew something wasn’t right. The next morning, I asked her to leave. She didn’t, so I left the house. I told her to keep the place and pay rent to the landlord. I spent Saturday night with a friend. When I returned on Sunday afternoon, I saw my bed frame dismantled and placed outside, with the mattress on the veranda. One sofa had been placed on top of the other, as if I were arranging my things to move out.

She left a note that said, “If you need help arranging the place, you know my number.”

I texted, “If you dare come close to me again, I’ll report you to the police. Go to the psychiatric ward. That’s where you belong.” She texted back, “Oh, you’re back. I’m coming.”

Guess what time she came knocking on my door. At 12 a.m. Now I was getting scared. She said, “Open the door, Eric is here.” I shouted back, “I’ve called the police. They’re on their way.” She responded, “Let them come. The room is big enough for all of us. Just open the door.”

I called the friend I’d spent Saturday night with to come over. When he arrived, I opened the door, and both of them entered. We didn’t sleep because we weren’t sure what she would do. While we kept watch, she snored loudly, sleeping on the floor. My friend told me, “You need to leave this place if you want peace of mind.”

She woke up, bathed, and left without saying a word. My friend laughed at me as if we were watching a comedy. “You say you don’t like your size. Now you’re crying,” he teased me.

I spoke to her friends to ask questions. The main one was, “Haven’t you had reason to suspect she’s not well upstairs?”
“Erica? She’s fine. Why do you think she’s not well?” came the answer.

Her parents weren’t in town, and I didn’t know them, or I would have asked them questions.

I changed the lock on my door and stayed with my friend for over a month. I would come home occasionally to pick up a few things and check if she had been around. I asked the neighbors if they’d seen her, but no one had. Yet every time I opened my door, I felt the lock had been tampered with.

My Wife Has The Spiritual Powers To Detect Cheating

The relationship lasted six months, but I went through hell. I left my place with over a year left on my rent. That was the only way I could be sure it was over between us. And guess what? I haven’t seen her again or bumped into her anywhere. Sometimes I wonder how she’s doing. I wish I could see how her next relationship is going—to know if it was just me or if she does that to everyone.

—Andy

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