We met in May of last year, and by November we were married. They say when you know, you know. Clearly, we did not date for very long, but we were sure. We were two grown adults who had found love and companionship in each other. He is in his forties, and I am in my early thirties.

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While I was not in any rush for a husband, he seemed like the perfect man when our paths crossed. It felt as though when God was shaping me, He already had Nii in mind. He thought of Nii, then shaped my nose, my body, and gently placed one of his ribs inside me with a smile. When He was done, He said, “This is the bone of Nii’s bone, the flesh of his flesh. Their marriage will be beautiful.” So, we wasted no time in tying the knot. He asked all the right questions, and I gave answers that felt worthy. His parents came to meet mine, they handled the formalities, and soon I was sent to live with him. It felt like an absolute dream come true.

When we were dating, he was helpful in ways that felt rare. When I visited and cooked, he would hover around the kitchen asking, “What do you need?” “Should I slice the onions?” “Wait, let me clean that for you.” He knew his way around the kitchen, the house, the laundry. He was thoughtful. He noticed things. He helped without being asked.

Amazingly, all those skills have suddenly disappeared into thin air. I do not see that man in him anymore. He has changed, and we are talking about a big change here, like a wolf finally removing its sheep’s clothing. He is now the kind of man who still thinks like the patriarchal men of old, that a woman’s place is in the kitchen, and only there should she live, serve, and honor. He does not believe I have a place sitting at his right side at the dining table. He does not believe that after all my education and learning, I deserve to go to work and earn money. According to him, my responsibility as a wife and a woman is to serve him, worship the ground he walks on, cry if he asks on a whim, and jump when he tells me to. It is a whole new revelation. I will be cleaning, and he will just sit there, even if I call for help while doing the chores. He really does not care.

The truth is, he does not really care about me like that. Now I can see it clearly, like a mask has fallen from my eyes. He has four children from three different women, and that history feels part of a pattern I am only now understanding.

Right now, we are quarreling for a simple reason, because I did not make breakfast for him. We work on shifts. This week, he is working mornings while I am working late. I get home around 12:30 AM; he is home by 3:30 PM. He expects me to come home in the middle of the night and fry eggs and plantain for him, even though he could easily do it himself when he gets home earlier. I have refused.

He says a lot of things: “You are a lazy woman who is just using work as an excuse not to cook for your husband,” “Your job is to make me happy, am I happy?”

My work is tedious. I am always on my feet, moving from one point to another, and all I want when I finally get home is to sleep. But instead, all I do is fight, quarrel, and talk with the man I married. None of this mattered when we were dating, so why now? What happened?

If he appreciated the little things I did, maybe this marriage would be easier to work with. But he does not. He shoots them down. He is mean to me. If I cook him a meal because I notice he has a cold, he tells me he did not ask me to. He does not say thank you, please, or I am sorry. He is just so mannerless. According to him, I am his wife, so everything I do is expected. It is my responsibility. He bought me; he owns me now. I am his subordinate.

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He is right about one thing. I am his wife.

But I am not his slave.

I am not going to sit and pity myself into thinking I am doing something wrong. I will not ask, “Am I a bad wife?” I will not beg God to make me better so my husband can love me more. That will not be my prayer.

I am going to rebel.

The way Israel rebelled against God.

I will let him know that one plus one will always equal two. I am his wife, and wife is not a synonym for slave. I am not my grandmother. At the end of this trial, he will make his decision.

If he wants me to do anything for him, he should pay me, hire someone, or do it himself.

I believe I am taking the right course of action. Yes or yes?

—Acolor

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