For five years, I was married to a man who had already left the marriage without leaving the house. He was physically there, but everything that made us husband and wife had disappeared. Nothing in the house concerned him anymore. The kids would run to him, and he would push them back to me. He would leave home for days without telling me where he was going or when he would return.

At first, I fought for answers. I questioned him. I argued. I begged him to care. Eventually, even his parents got tired of hearing about us. His dad once told me, “Bene, are you not tired? I’m tired ooo. You can leave the marriage if you want to.”

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That was when I started realizing something painful. Maybe I was the only person still married.

He owed me money, over GHC 50,000. I told myself if he gave me that money, I would leave the house with the kids and rent a new place where I would never see his face again. We fought about that money every day, and one day he told me I could take him to court. He had nothing to pay me.

I yearned to be loved as a woman, so when Kweku came into my life and flashed the light of affection, I flew to the light like a bug. Kweku was married. I was married too. I didn’t know what he was looking for from me, but I was looking to be loved. I missed that.

After work, we would sit out and have a drink or two, or he would take me to a hotel and spend a few hours there. My heart was alive again. While my husband was out there in the world doing his own thing, I was also in the arms of Kweku, taking all the love he could give.

Unlike me, Kweku had a beautiful marriage. Anytime we were together, his wife would call. They would speak nicely to each other and smile, and she would tell him she was waiting for him at home. She would either ask him to buy something on his way home or ask him where he was. Anytime it was 10 p.m., her call would come through. She would ask if he was on his way home.

It made me sad. I asked him how it felt to have someone waiting for him in the house. He took my question literally, but I knew why I asked. I missed that. I missed being waited for or being the one waiting for someone. My marriage used to be like that until everything changed.

I had the affection I was looking for. Emotionally, I was stable. When we had sex, I felt physically and emotionally available, something I hadn’t felt in years. I had my light back and dressed like someone courting on the attention of her partner. But at some point, I told myself I should learn something from Kweku’s wife. He was out there cheating on her, but she called. They laughed. Their marriage was good.

I started doing the same with my husband. I wanted a revival so badly that I even stopped seeing Kweku and focused on my marriage. I would call my husband and tell him what I’d cooked for him, and he would ask, “And so?” He even accused me of putting juju in his food. I called every day at 10 p.m. to ask where he’d gotten to. He would take offence and ask why his whereabouts concerned me.

I would wait for him until he arrived. I would ask about his day. I would tell him I had cooked for him. I would try to help him take his shirt off, and he would swat my hands away. It hurt, but I laughed to let him know I’d turned over a new leaf and could revive our marriage if he gave me a chance.

For several months, I kept up this behaviour. He didn’t give me money to cook but wasted the food I cooked for him. He kept insulting me whenever he wasn’t home and I called to ask where he was. I was resolute. I woke him up at dawn to have a conversation. He hadn’t touched me in more than seven months.

I asked, “Dear, haven’t you seen what I’m trying to do? The love I’ve shown and the care I’ve tried to bring into this marriage? Does it not make you think that you’re not being fair to me? We are not beyond repair. We can build ourselves back to life again.”

He listened while chuckling. He asked, “Are you done? Can I sleep now?” I answered, “I want you to make love to me. We haven’t done that for months.”

He said, “I don’t make love to stones. If you want it that much, go to the street. You can offer your services for free.”

I cried that night. I asked God what I did to deserve that kind of marriage. He heard me cry, took a pillow, and went to the hall to sleep. I didn’t sleep again. I was ashamed of myself when I looked in the mirror in the morning and saw my puffy eyes. I’d wasted my tears, and they were about all I had left to give.

That very morning, I entered the bathroom while he was brushing his teeth. I told him I wanted a divorce, picked up my brush, and started brushing my teeth too. He didn’t give me a response. In the evening, I repeated it, and he said, “Go ahead and do it. Must you tell me before?” I told him I needed him to pack his things and leave the house for me and the kids. I begged him to respect that request.

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He didn’t pack his things, but I haven’t seen him in twenty-eight days. I only see his status updates and all the fun he’s having out there. I’ve told my parents I need a divorce. They agree with me but are asking me to wait for at least a year and see if he would have a change of mind.

We don’t live together, though all his belongings are still here. We don’t talk. The last time we talked, it was about the kids. I told him if he doesn’t start playing his fatherly role in their lives again, I will take him to court to demand it. Again, he was nonchalant about it.

Kweku is still in the shadows. He calls. He still wants us together again. I’m not going back to him again. Even if I end up getting a divorce, I would look for something new, a man without attachments. I’m happy about the lessons I learned from him and his wife. It didn’t work for me, and that’s okay.

—Bene

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