My husband wanted a child as soon as we got married. He told me about it and made jokes about it whenever he could. After sex, he would look into my eyes and say, “I’ve given you food. Cook something beautiful with it.”

After two years without a child, I got worried. And then I caught him cheating with another woman. I was devastated. I never thought my husband could ever cheat on me, especially when I was the one who taught him about intimacy. When we met, he’d never done it before. I held his hands the way you hold a child’s hand and cross the road with them.

I was crying while he was begging me to forgive him. I asked why, but he didn’t have much to say apart from, “I don’t know what came over me.” The lady is called Mansa. I asked him to block her number and delete it, and he did it right in front of me. At a point, I asked if it was because a child wasn’t coming, and he told me that wasn’t the case, but it could also be the case because a child could make him grounded.

I was scared he would make another woman pregnant, so I started praying fervently to God to give me the seed of the womb. While praying, I did everything humanly possible to get pregnant. I took medicine, both orthodox and herbal. I had intimacy as often as he could have the strength to do it. Less than a year after that incident, I got pregnant.

The day I told him, my husband carried me on his back and told me I didn’t deserve to walk on the floor. He was happy. He treated me very well in every aspect. He bought gifts for me for no reason at all. I thanked God for such a man, but that happiness didn’t carry us through to term. I was four months pregnant when I caught him cheating again. It was the same Mansa he was cheating with, though this time he’d changed her name on the phone.

This pain was bigger than the one I felt the first time I caught him. Maybe it was because of the pregnancy. It was intense. I thought I wasn’t going to survive it. “Rob, why? Why are you doing this to me? I thought it was a child you wanted. Am I not carrying one for you?”

He rendered an apology like a child caught in the kitchen fishing from the pot of soup on the counter. That day, I blocked the number and deleted it from his phone. I made him swear that he would never see that girl again, and he did. I said, “Look up and tell God that if you ever cheat on me again, something bad should happen to you.” He quickly looked up and said it and even added more.

I gave birth to a girl just like he dreamed of. He carried us from the hospital, singing songs of praise until we got home. He was a better father than I ever thought. He helped with the child and carried her when she cried. His mother had come to live with us to help.

My baby was only three months old when I caught him. He came home smelling different. I innocently asked if he’d changed his perfume, and he asked me, “Am I smelling different?” That was when it clicked that he might be doing something in the dark. This time, I found the truth on his computer. It was linked to his WhatsApp. Not only that, I saw emails about a loan he had taken. I read in the messages that he took the loan and gave it to Mansa.

Pain is very sneaky. It’s like the beggar who never puts his hand down after you’ve shaken your head to tell him you don’t have money to give. They still call your name. They still stick around until something drops into their palm. Pain lived with me and looked deep into my eyes and asked, “Are you still alive? Why don’t you end it?”

I told his mom about it, but this time it was worse. He said, “You should know by now that I can’t leave this girl. I’ve been with her and you, but tell me if I’m a bad man because of that. What don’t I do around here as a husband?”

His mother was shocked and even shouted at him for disrespecting me. She said, “You’re not the one talking. The demon talking through you has to be cast out before it destroys you.”

I cried until tears would no longer fall. I was feeding my baby while crying. When I looked down at her, she had stopped feeding and was looking deep into my eyes. When we caught eyes, she still didn’t look away. It was intense, fixed on me like a tag. I said, “I’m sorry. I won’t cry again.” She blinked and turned her eyes.

I didn’t cry again. I didn’t ever think I could get used to such a painful thing. When he came home smelling like Mansa, I didn’t talk. I cooked for him. I served him. I played a wife. When he came home very late from work, I didn’t ask questions. At a point, he started having conversations with me about Mansa and even thanked me for accommodating her. I didn’t say a word.

Our girl was learning to walk and was falling down. I would hold her and sing for her to walk, and she would still fall. It was something I did to while away time or keep myself busy. He came home one evening to see me doing that. He stood there watching us and later clapped when she made three steps without falling. He said, “Don’t worry. She will learn to walk very soon and start running around.”

He walked past me smelling like a dead rose. I don’t know if the scent of Mansa was in my head or if it was real. Even when he came out of the shower, he still smelled like her. All the time I was putting up with the pain and the smell, I was also learning to walk so I could run around like he said.

I had withdrawn an investment I had made years ago. I got myself a very peaceful room in an obscure place in town. I paid for it and started sending my things there piece by piece. He didn’t notice when things started leaving the house because he was busy doing life with Mansa. He was in town when I told him I’d left the keys under the flower pot next to the gate. He asked where I was going, and I answered, “Running around.”

When I entered my room with the rest of my things, I broke down crying. I don’t know where the tears came from. It filled my chest and choked my breath until I let it all out. My baby was sleeping. I whispered, “I ran away, but trust me, we’ll do it without him.”

I called his mother to tell her I was gone. I called my uncle, who stood as a father during my marriage, and told him I’d left the marriage. He was shocked that I didn’t tell him anything before taking the decision, but in the end he said, “If only it makes you happy, why not?”

I missed my dad. I missed my mom. I wish I could call and talk to them, but they died many years ago. When my husband called and asked where we were, I told him, “I’ve left and I’m not coming back. Now, Mansa can have you all to herself.” He barked on the phone and asked me to return his baby. He said he was going to send the police after me if I didn’t return the baby. I didn’t say a word.

Then he called a week later with a sober voice, begging me to come back home so we could talk about it. I told him I didn’t have anything to talk about. He swore it was over between them. I said, “You even looked in the face of God and lied to Him. Is it me you won’t lie to?”

His absence made every space bigger and brighter than it really was. It made every pain and disappointment bearable. He came to my office; I saw his face and walked back in. I warned him to stay away from me, or else I would make a case at the police station against him.

I Left Him Because He Didn’t Help In The Kitchen

We are currently in court. A week from today, I believe the verdict will come out and we’ll officially be over. When a woman learns to walk and you don’t stop her, she runs and never comes back to the same pain again. He told the court he wanted to work the marriage back to health again. I told the court dead things don’t need health.

We are both doing fine. He won his freedom from me, and I did the same. Didn’t we both win?

—Rita Bedu   

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