It was early morning on August 11th, 2024, when I had a call from my boyfriend’s sister. It was so unusual to get a call from her. We talked and laughed whenever we met, but we didn’t call each other, especially in the mornings. She said, “Mathew had an accident. I’m here. It’s very critical.”

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She sounded like she was sending a telegraph. The sentences were so short, as if they didn’t want to be sentences but were forced to be. “What did you just say? You mean your brother Mathew?” She answered, “Yeah, I don’t know how to say it for you to believe it. You ought to see him.”

The night before I slept, I had spoken to him. He had said goodbye to me in the morning, traveling outside town to attend the funeral of a friend. He said he was going with friends and would call when he got there. His call didn’t come until late afternoon, so I called him myself. He said the network in the village was bad and he had to stand at a particular place to get network service.

In the evening, when we talked and he said goodnight, he told me he was standing at that same location and after he left there, I might not be able to reach him. When I woke up in the morning, he was the first person I texted. It ticked only once in grey. I called his line and it was off. I was going to ask when he was leaving the village, but the call didn’t go through until his sister’s call came.

She mentioned the hospital and, to my surprise, it wasn’t far away from town. I was like, “Were they coming back when the accident happened?”

He wasn’t just a boyfriend. We had dated for three years and had done knocking only a month earlier. Our marriage was set for November. The only thing left was the specific date, but we knew we were going to get married in November 2024.

I got to the hospital and right at the main entrance, I met Sampson. Sampson lives only two blocks away from my boyfriend and because the two of them are football fans, they usually sat together to watch football on Saturdays and also played video games. It was either Sampson was in my boyfriend’s house or he was in his.

He looked distraught. He didn’t even see me until I called his name. “Sampson! Oh, you got here before I did? Why didn’t you call me so we could come together?” He looked lost but was in a rush. He said, “Eme, please, I will call you. It’s not easy for me at all.”

“Ah, what is happening? It’s my boyfriend who was involved in an accident, so why is it not easy for you?” I looked back and saw him in the midst of others who looked like they had received bad news. I entered the hospital and met my boyfriend’s sister. She took me to the ward and my boyfriend was lying there like he didn’t have a soul.

I said loud prayers as if I was at his graveside. I couldn’t even get close to him. I was scared touching him would break him into pieces, looking at how brittle he looked.

There were whispers here and there. his sister would turn back and look at me and then continue talking to the staff. I was lost. I wanted to hear what they were saying, but I didn’t want to risk hearing bad news.

She told me, “They say he was with someone when the accident happened, but the person he was with is dead.”

My heart immediately started racing. “Does it mean he’s going to die too? God please, don’t do this to me. I beg you. Save this one for me and I will forever worship you.”

A few hours later, his parents arrived. Just when they were about to see him, a staff member came to call them. I didn’t go with them. There were whispers and curious faces. I could see them from where I was standing. Then a few minutes later, I saw Sampson and three other people joining the conversation. Seeing Sampson gave me the courage to move closer and listen to what was going on.

Sampson’s wife had died in an accident a few hours earlier and, according to eyewitnesses and those who brought them to the hospital, she was in the same car with my boyfriend.

I looked at Sampson and he looked back at me. It looked like he knew more than I knew. His wife had been dead for hours but he wasn’t crying. Then the truth hit me instantly, the way thunder strikes without warning. She was in the same car with my fiancé? How? Why?

Sampson entered the ward to see my boyfriend. He shook his head and I heard him whispering something before tears followed.

The long and short of the story is that my boyfriend was seeing Sampson’s wife. My fiancé wasn’t going for any funeral. The two of them were going on a trip. They had been sneaking around for a while. They both left home wearing funeral clothes but when they were found, they were dressed in casual outing clothes.

The whole thing felt like a movie that was badly written and badly directed with the wrong characters. I watched Sampson, who had earlier worn a strong but hurt expression, burst into endless tears while I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know whether to mourn the accident or mourn the death of my relationship.

Days later, he spoke. I wasn’t there when he opened his eyes, but I heard he asked about Sampson’s wife and he was told she was doing well. When he saw me, he closed his eyes like snails do when their tentacles meet an obstacle. Slowly, they pull their tentacles back into their skin. Sampson didn’t get the chance to ask his wife why, but I wanted to. I wanted to know the story to the very last moment before the accident happened.

Weeks went by and he was still in the hospital. It got to a point where even his healing was hurting me. I’m not ashamed to admit it, but the more I thought about it, the more I wished he had also gone the way of Sampson’s wife. His sister asked me not to ask questions too soon. It got to a point where his mother started preventing me from seeing him, or she would let me see him but wouldn’t let me be alone with him.

I stopped going there. I needed to do my own healing before his ultimate healing so I could talk to him with an open heart and listen with a clean mind. It wasn’t easy. He came back from the hospital walking with crutches. He was not the same man who had told me he was traveling weeks earlier. He looked lean. He could hardly say two sentences together without feeling frustrated. He needed a lot of help to stand on his feet. They said he would someday walk without the crutches, but I couldn’t wait for all that to happen before asking a simple question.

So one day, when everyone was there, I said, “Did you have to cheat just to kill someone’s wife?”

He looked downward, obviously ashamed, but before I could put my next sentence together, they held my hand and pulled me away. That was the last time I got close to him.

Sampson buried his wife. I was there to say sorry to him. He looked calm, as if he had forgiven his wife. It could also be that he was happy his wife got the punishment she deserved.

He asked me, “How is he?” I asked him, “Will you ever forgive him?” He smiled, but that smile was only an inch deep. He said, “It’s only God who forgives sins. I’ve left them in the hands of God.”

I still haven’t healed and I don’t think he will ever heal physically and emotionally. Everything may fade away, but the way he walks now will forever be a reminder of his sins. He walks with a limp as if his right leg has fallen short of the glory of God.

—Eme

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