I’m the last born of my parents. We are four and I’m the fourth child. People tell jokes about how last borns are treated specially in the house. They say we are the most loved among our siblings and because of that our parents treat us with soft gloves. I never experienced that in our house. I was given normal treatment and I was the child who did everything in the house because I was the last born. The age difference between me and the third born is seven years. 

They didn’t do anything in the house. Even when they finished eating, they left their dishes in the sink for me to wash them. I felt it was my duty and didn’t make much of it until one day our eldest sister came home. She had married and was living with her husband. She was in the hall talking to my parents and I was outside washing dishes. I heard my name in the conversation so I kept quiet and listened to what they were saying about me. My dad said, “As for Rose, she’s a mistake we made ooo. If your mother gave her mind to me, we wouldn’t have had her.”

That wasn’t the first time I was hearing that. The first time was from my mother. She was angry when she said it so I took it as one of those things parents say when they are angry. She said, “If I listened to your father, You wouldn’t have been here causing me troubles.” As I said, I didn’t take it personally but when my father repeated it at a moment when he was not angry, I said to myself, “Wow, so it’s true?” I remember crying myself to sleep that night. I went moody for so long in the house but no one cared to even ask me what was wrong with me. My teachers noticed it and asked me but I couldn’t tell them anything. I was in junior high school and was about to complete school. 

I grew up knowing that I was a mistake. I started judging my parents’ actions towards me differently. When I asked them something and they didn’t give it to me, I concluded, “Yeah they won’t do it for me because I’m the accident that happened to them.” When they shouted at me, it hurt differently. It went deeper than I should have taken it. Everything they did hurt me but I couldn’t talk to them about it. I grew up with the notion that I wasn’t chosen. I’m not one of the kids my parents planned to have. It was me who forced myself into their life. The accident that happened to them. This affected my love life. I was walking around with a hole in my heart looking for someone to fill it for me.

My first ever relationship was a disaster. I put myself on the platter for the boy because he said he loved me. Something I’d never heard from anyone. Not even from my parents. For once I felt chosen. I didn’t feel like an accident that happened to him. I was sitting at my somewhere and he walked up to me and chose me. There were many women along the way but this man walked past all of them and came to me. That was a special feeling for me. So even when he cheated on me and played me for a fool I stayed. When I was at level hundred, he asked for a loan and I gave him my school fees. He never paid. During exams, I was made to sit out. I went to him and cried that he should even pay half of it. He didn’t. Until I lied to my elder sister and took money from her.

After all that I didn’t leave him. When he got the best out of me and felt he had had enough, he walked away and left me dry. I cried. I rejected food. I stayed in the room for days without going to lectures. The only man who chose me had left me. I was back to square one where I was just an accident that occurred to my parents. 

I completed university, started working, and later found Aboagye. The first time I saw him, I said in my head, “Go away from me you heart breaker.” That was even before he proposed to me. But when I gave him space in my life and gave myself the permission to know him, I came to like him. He was too handsome I was scared the competition would be stiffer. But Aboagye treated me like a queen he never had. If I asked him to jump, he would ask, “How high?” If I asked him to die for me, he would ask, “Through crucifixion or through electrocution?” He became my everything and once again, I felt chosen.

We dated for two years and got married. If I fell for his pressure, we would have married earlier. He started talking about marriage when we had dated for only three months. But I held him by the collar and slowly dragged him through time until I was so sure of him. When I was in front of God saying I do, I said it with my chest out and smiles on my face while thanking God for the favor he had done me. Yes, Aboagye was God’s favor to me. When I was just but an accident to my parents, he picked me up and said, “Queen, I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been?” 

On our honeymoon, it was fireworks. The sparks flew so high before bursting into rainbow colors. It wasn’t a surprise that I got pregnant during my honeymoon. Just a year after marriage, I had this tiny little creature on my lap crying for breast milk and pulling my attention away from everything. I loved her. I loved the care I had to give her. Even when he cried in the middle of my sleep, I woke up with a trembling heart, ready to serve her so she could keep quiet. 

When our baby was four months old, I drew closer to my husband, asking for intimacy. He pulled away from me. He spoke through snores, “Ooo leave me and concentrate on the baby. You’re not yet healed.” He did that for weeks. One day I told him, “Doctor says I can do it.” He screamed, “Then call the doctor to come and do it for you so you can leave me in peace.”

“Eiii, what is coming over my husband? Is it the same Aboagye or I’m sleeping with something different?”

I asked questions. All the questions a wife would ask her husband.  He told me he was fine. He started coming home from work very late. He won’t eat my food and won’t eat me. Every little thing I did got him angry. So angry he could stop talking to me for a whole week. I would wash his jeans and find condoms in the pocket. I would ask him about it and he would say, “I don’t know how it got to my pocket. You found it so you have to explain.” Explain what, Aboagye? Does it mean you’re doing it outside? You don’t give it to me but you’ll give it to women who have no commitment to you? What has come over you Aboagye? Is the devil doing you?” I don’t know where that slap came from. All I heard was the sound and my eyes getting blurry.” 

“Aboagye, you slapped me?”

“Yes, I did that. Next time you won’t accuse me wrongly.”

I called my parents and told them about it. They made it look like it was something normal. My mom said, “Sisei kɔwhɛ, ɛyɛ ɔdɔ bɔ. Meaning my husband hit me out of love. According to them, It wasn’t even a hit but a tap on the cheek. My dad added, “Everyone has problems in their marriage. All you have to do is go on your knees and pray. He’ll stop.” I learned not to tell them about my problems. They made it worse than it already is. But I took my dad’s advice. I prayed for myself and prayed for him. I would wake up at dawn and mention him in my prayers. I would make sure he hears me praying for him. Nothing changed.

So one day I sat down and assess all the words I’d said to him ever since I gave birth. “Was there a moment he tried getting intimate and I said no?” There wasn’t. “Or I had unknowingly insulted him?” “Or he wanted something that I didn’t give him?” I went through the dusty archives of my memory but didn’t see anything of that sort. I concluded, “Only prayers would save this marriage.” 

He stopped giving us money. He would tell me, “You work and I work, why should I give you my money?” I used my money to cook for him which 90% of the time he didn’t eat. Everything about our baby was on me. He paid the bills sometimes but when I did something and he was angry, he wouldn’t pay the bill. That was even ok. It was better than being slapped in the face. He wouldn’t talk to me no matter how hard I tried to ask questions so I developed a strategy.

One night before we went to bed, I knelt by the bed and started praying. I said, “God, my husband is here. I summon him before you tonight. He won’t talk to me but maybe if you ask him he would talk. He hasn’t touched me for close to a year. Please ask him what I did wrong. God, you see me cooking in this house every night and you see how I end up throwing the food away in the morning. God asked him why.” I opened my eyes slightly to watch him. He was sitting on the bed smiling and shaking his head at the same time. I continued, “God, how our child would feed doesn’t concern him. Please ask him why for me. I want to also know if I’ve done something wrong to him so I apologize. Maybe there’s another woman in his life, he can open up to me and I’ll accept her into this house. You know I’m not vindictive. You know all I want is his happiness. God, please speak to him for me. Amen.”

When opened my eyes, he was already in bed with his eyes closed. I tapped him. “Dear, please can we talk. I’m really worried. The way we live here has changed. What did I do? Who is that woman you’ve been using the rubber on?” Another slap, bam! It was so loud it woke the baby up. He shouted, “I’ve told you never to say that to me again. Have you seen me around any woman?” He picked his pillow and left me and the child there.

I cried myself to sleep. I woke up with swollen eyes and heavy lips. I looked in the mirror and I was scared of who I saw. I told myself, “No more talking. Live your life like he doesn’t exist.”

He kept ignoring us. He went out in the morning and came very late in the night. I stopped cooking for him and stopped washing for him. Every duty I owed him as a wife, I stopped. One morning he asked why I haven’t been washing his clothes. I walked past him and didn’t say a word. He held me from behind and screamed, “Are you not the one I’m talking to?” I didn’t say a word. He screamed, “Don’t let me slap you.” I said calmly, “You won’t dare do it.” I pulled off his grip and left. My action shocked him a little bit so he didn’t take any further action.

One weekend, when he had left for the town in the morning, The truck I had arranged came in. I park everything that belongs to me and the baby into the truck. I left the key in the keyhole and left to the new place I had rented. The paint was new on the wall so there was this freshness in the room. My bed was smaller. I didn’t need a bigger bed.  I sat on the bed and cried. I said, “You’re a rose. You attract good things. Time to attract peace of mind. 

I put my baby on my chest and slept on my back. A few seconds later she slept. The rhythm of my heartbeat put her to sleep. The rhythm was right.

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My mom called to ask where I was. My dad called to ask why I’d packed and left my husband’s house. I told my mom, “I’m in my own place where no one can use me like a drum.” She screamed on the phone, “I’m giving you a few hours, if you don’t pack back home, you’ll see what we would do to you. Every little thing you’ll be complaining. You think marriage is easy?” I said, “Where are you going to find me? I’m no longer going back. The marriage is over. I will initiate the process soon.” 

My father screamed, “Rose, are you getting mad? What devil has come over you? Listen to me. I’m your father. Whatever the issue is, we would resolve it. Go back home.” I responded, “I’m home.” Aboagye couldn’t pick up the phone to call and ask why or where I was. He was hiding behind my parents and pushing them to ask me to go back home. He was shocked when he got a call from a lawyer friend telling him about the divorce. That was when he picked up the phone and called me. It had been over a month since I left home. He said, “Come and let’s discuss this. We don’t have to go that far.” I said, “When you get the papers please sign them. We are over.”

They huffed and puffed, I didn’t cave in. My mind was made.

I didn’t back down until the divorce was finalized. The day everything was done, I went to my parents. They looked angry but I didn’t care. I told them, “I was a child when I heard that I was an accident baby. Mom said it to me when she was angry. Dad said it and laughed. When Aboagye first abused me, you were the first people I came to. Again, you made jokes about it. I may be an accident to you but I’m not an accident to myself. I would take care of myself and be happy for who I am. I came to this world through you and I don’t regret it but I would never put my happiness in your hands again. You’ve proven time and time again that you’re bad managers of it.” I left the Marriage. But you’re part of the problem. 

Leaving my husband made me happy but the ultimate happy ending had always been when I looked at my parent’s faces and told them the truth that had been in my heart since a child

It’s been over three years and I’ve come to realize that a happy ending isn’t always about ending up with someone else. If you find yourself in the arms of someone, in the end, that’s fine. If you find yourself in your own arms too, that’s fine. You can be alone and still find your happy ending because you’ve been through hell and back. 

—Rose

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