We’ve been married for seven years. We’ve had our down moments but if anyone asks me today, I will say I’ve had a beautiful marriage so far. If you ask about my husband, I will tell you with all the pride in me that he had been a very good husband. I’ve had no reason to doubt what he says because he never promised anything that he wouldn’t do.

But that night I didn’t know what came over me. I was lying next to him at dawn and couldn’t sleep. My mind was not at ease. I searched through my soul and reflected on my life to see what could be making me feel uneasy. There was nothing I could pinpoint and say, “This is why I can’t sleep tonight.” I tossed and turned while my husband slept with the snore of a baby.

I got up, walked to the fridge to get some water. When I got to the hall, I realized my husband left his phone in the hall. I turned on the tv and picked up his phone. When I opened his phone his WhatsApp was already opened. The last person he had a chat with was Fiifi. I read the last message between the two of them. My husband said, “I hope you’ve been a good boy?” Fiifi responded, “You know I’ve always been. I don’t cheat on you like you always do.” He ended the message with a teary emoji. My husband sent a laughing emoji.

I was like, “Cheating? Cheating on him? Ok wait, what could my husband do to cheat on his best friend?” My curiosity was triggered. I started scrolling down. You know what they say? They say when best friends have a conversation, they speak honestly. They open up their souls to each other and in the end, secrets are poured out.

Fiifi and my husband were friends long before I came into the picture. They met at the university lecture hall one day and never went apart. When we were dating, I realized one thing. When I said A and Fiifi said B, my husband always went for the B. He’ll go for what Fiifi said because he trusted in his judgments than mine. At some point, we had a fight about it. It was about our wedding colors. The three of us were seated thinking of what colors to choose when I said, “I’d always loved the combination of blue and white. Let’s use that. My husband asked Fiifi, “You think blue and white will look good?” Fiifi said, “Yeah it’s a great combination but gold and white matches your personality.” My husband said, “Then Gold and white it is.”

That day when we were alone I launch my first attack on him; “For how long are you going to go with Fiifi and leave what I say in the dust? Is he the one getting married? Why would we allow him to choose our colors? What kind of timidity is that? Is Fiifi the one who takes care of you? Why do you always have to consult him in everything?” Typical of him, he didn’t fight back. He only laughed at me. I said, “Don’t laugh! I hate it when you treat my suggestions as inferior to Fifi’s suggestion.” He said, “Hey, it’s just a color. It’s not even that important.” I said, “If it’s not that important then why didn’t you pick mine?”

That fight didn’t go anywhere and it didn’t change anything. I got married to him while holding a gold and white bouquet in my right hand. Fiifi was his best man, something I protested against because I didn’t like him that much. After marriage, I saw less of Fiifi so I toned down. He wasn’t there when we made decisions. He wasn’t there when we made the big plans of our lives. He talked about him in passing. With time, the anger and displeasure I had towards Fiifi faded into black and white. It no longer mattered because, in the big scheme of things, Fiifi didn’t matter.

But that night, the last message I read between them got my curiosity peaked. I said, “He mattered after all.” So, I scrolled down and down stupidly thinking I could reach the beginning of their chat. It was a bottomless pit kind of conversation. Even a day’s chat between them was longer than Ghana’s constitution. At some point, I stopped. I checked the time stamp; Wed, April 28;

My husband: “I’m not comfortable with the way you look at Jude. I’m beginning to suspect you two.

Fiifi: There’s nothing going on. He’s only being kind.”
My husband: “Tell him we don’t need his kindness. We have all that we want.”
Fiifi: “Are you sure about that?”
My Husband: “What are you saying?”
Fiifi: “You’re married. What shows we have all we want? You got married to hide what we have. What shows that’s everything?”
My husband: “How long are we going to have this conversation?”
Fiifi: “Then don’t question my relationship with others!”

My heart. It felt like I was in the middle of a storm. I wanted to continue reading but at the same time scared of what I may find. I kept scrolling. At some point it got intimate but they didn’t they didn’t mention things by name. That was my confusion. They were not too plain but it was obvious the kind of things they were talking about. I met a voice note from my husband. I opened and listened. He was talking about Jude. He said, “Why don’t you come out plain and tell me what’s going on between you two?”

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That was about all I can take. I drank a full bottle of water without noticing it. I put the phone down and positioned it just the way it was before I picked it. I quietly sneaked into bed pretending I was sleeping but all night, I laid awake thinking about what I just read. My heart was breaking. I was scared. I was scared for our kids and scared for the future of our marriage. I regretted reading what I read. Not knowing is kind of cool. Knowing comes with a lot of burdens. I asked myself, “So what am I going to do with this information?” The next night, I went for his phone again. I was going to take screenshots for the future but guess what, all the messages were gone. Deleted. I said to myself, “So it’s true? If he had to delete the messages then everything is true. See, he’s covering his tracks.”

It’s getting to two months since I found this. I’m scared. I don’t know who to talk to about this. My mind keeps racing. My heart beats abnormally when I close from work and have to go home. He touches me and I cringe. I don’t leave him alone with our son. Last time I found myself asking our son if Dad has touched him in a way that’s inappropriate. I asked him, “Has dad touched your here?” He’ll shake his head. How about your here? He’ll shake his head. I started crying. If I had to ask our son these questions then you can see the depth of my fears but who do I talk to?

I just want to pretend I didn’t read what I read. I want to pretend it was a bad dream I had some weeks ago. I want to pretend…but for how long?” I want to talk about it but how do I start such a conversation and where do I start from. Days ago, I stayed awake rehearsing all my lines; “Dear, you and Fiifi what’s going on? Are you two…are you two…are you two…you know what I mean.” I couldn’t even mention it to myself. How can I then mention it to him?

I need help—I need all the help I can get but where do I go to get such help. What’s the easiest way to broach such discussion and with who?

–Mili

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