Our son is currently nine years old. We haven’t had another child, though we’ve tried with all our might. Medical facilities we visited identified my husband as the problem. Two places—both said his sperm count was low. It wasn’t something they couldn’t fix, but my husband wouldn’t allow himself to receive treatment.

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When we had a fight, he told me, “If I’m the problem, then where did you get Jeff from?” Jeff is our son. He looks like a carbon copy of his dad. Had it not been for that, my husband would have requested a DNA test by now. And to be honest with you, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had done the test secretly. A husband like mine is capable of anything.

I received a call from my mother-in-law. She said she had something to discuss with me and asked me to visit.

We sat down with my father-in-law in the corner, observing the proceedings. My mother-in-law told me, “Your husband has brought a problem home, but please, help us resolve this without any issues. I’m on my knees.”

She indeed threw herself down on her knees while apologizing. I didn’t know what the issue was, but I held her and lifted her off the floor.

She said, “Your husband has another child with another woman. He has been trying to come clean, but you know how heavy this issue is. Please, forgive us. The child is not coming to live with you, but it’s right that you know.”

The child was four years old, and the reason I was being informed was that the child’s mother wanted my husband to go for the child and was threatening to expose him. I was broken, but I kept my calm until I got home. It was a huge fight between us. I wanted to leave the marriage. I felt betrayed. My husband had been fathering a child for four years, and I didn’t know about it. I felt it was the reason he didn’t care about us having another child.

I forgave him, but I didn’t rest.

On the girl’s birthday a year later, I went with him to see the girl. I watched her and her mannerisms. Something didn’t feel right. Out of sheer intuition, I knew the girl didn’t belong to my husband. On our way home, I told him, “Do a DNA test on that girl. I don’t think she’s yours.”

I said it in a teasing way, but I told him not to disregard what I was saying. Maybe he battled with the idea for longer than he should have, but he eventually decided to do it. I was right. The girl wasn’t his. He had taken care of her for five years. A lot of money and care had gone into raising a child who wasn’t his.

As I write this, he’s still in pain. I don’t know how long he’s going to be this way, but he’s never been himself. He talks to himself. He’s always on the phone, fighting with someone. His mother disagrees with the test. She thinks I orchestrated a false test to get rid of the child. While they battle it out, I stay in my corner, refusing to be involved.

The pain my husband is going through makes me wonder about a lot of things. He looked so invested in that child that I ask myself, “Did he ever love me and my son this way?”

Marriage Through the Eyes of Millennials and Gen-Z


I’ve given this one to him for free. They call me the forgiving wife, but that’s the last time I will ever do that. So, I’ve started building things for myself. I’m creating a world where, when push comes to shove, I will be able to live with my son without any trouble. I’m no longer interested in having another child with him. If I catch him cheating on me again, I won’t wait for the call from his mother. I’ll be gone long before she throws herself on her knees and asks me to forgive her son.

—Asantewaa 

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