My husband was on the phone talking when I went to him to ask what he would eat so I could cook it for him. “Babe, what are you going to eat?” He didn’t talk. Instead, he took a few steps away from me while his phone was stuck to his ear.

I waited for a few minutes and went again. He still didn’t say anything but rather walked out of the hall with his phone stuck to his ear. Several minutes later, he wasn’t coming back. It was also getting late, so I took some soup I had in the fridge and put it on the stove. I lit the fire under it and made it low and gentle.

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I was still waiting for him to let me know what he would eat. My husband was an unpredictable eater. Sometimes you would cook rice, and he would ask you why you didn’t cook yam. He would eat very little of what you made because it wasn’t what he expected and then waste the rest of the food.

I didn’t want that situation, so I went out to look for him. I asked, “Who are you talking to on the phone that you wouldn’t take a few seconds to tell me what you will eat? What’s so important about this call?”

Again, he took a few steps away from me and said nothing. I walked in and decided to cook a little rice for our boy. I was in the kitchen putting things together when he angrily walked in, screaming, “What was that for? Because of food, I can’t make my call in peace?”

He reached for the rice I’d put on the fire a few seconds ago, lifted the pot from the stove and poured it on me. “Is this not rice? Is that not food?” Before I could say jack, my husband reached for the soup that was on the fire and threw it on me. “What is this on the fire? Is that not food?”

The soup wasn’t boiling hot but was hot enough to feel the burn. It was very cold when I placed it on the fire. Had it not been for that, my skin would have crawled off my body. I screamed, “Babe, what has come over you?”

That scream was loud, so our boy was coming to the kitchen to see what was happening. And because I asked that question, my husband started looking around for something else to throw. I tried running out and collided with my son, and we both fell down. My husband threw a tuber of yam, and it hit my thigh, broke into pieces, and some of the pieces hit my boy on the forehead.

He let out a loud cry. I held him to my chest and started rubbing his forehead while containing my own pain and sobbing. My husband kept screaming at me and wishing the yam had hit me in the face so I would learn sense. He jumped over us, left the house, and I didn’t see him again until deep in the night when he came to sleep.

I was still eager to talk about what happened, though he didn’t look like someone who was ready to talk. Pleadingly, I asked what all that was about. “I only asked what you would eat. What’s so annoying about that that you would try to kill us around here?” He bellowed, “If you don’t want a round two, keep quiet and let me sleep.” I kept quiet while he tucked himself in to sleep without bathing.

In the morning, I asked him to say sorry so we could bury the hatchet. That also caused some ire, so I dropped it. For a few weeks, we were living on tenterhooks. He wouldn’t talk unless it was necessary. I also kept to myself, caring for the child and mending my wounds. It got to a point where I said to myself, “No, this anger is not coming from this house. Someone else might have caused it, and we are bearing the brunt of it.”

So one late night, while he was asleep, I went through his phone. One name was all over the call log and also on WhatsApp. He had saved the name with initials: A.B.

I read the messages. The messages were exchanges from only that day. Meaning he had been deleting their chats, but what I read was enough for me to know what was happening. He had impregnated A.B. and was begging her to abort. The lady said she was never going to do that even if she was given all the money in this world. My husband asked, “Is that how you treat a man you want to marry?” A.B. responded, “But is that how you treat a woman you said you would marry in a year?”

I wasn’t shocked. My heart was beating faster, but not out of shock. I was angry. I was so angry the voice in my head kept telling me to go to the kitchen for a knife. Time to repay what he had done to me and the kid. I got up, walked to the kitchen, but I ended up drinking water and going back to sleep.

I was at work when I sent him screenshots and said, “Another woman is carrying your child. Is that the reason you wanted to end my child’s life and mine? You have a new set to replace us, right?”

He responded hours later. He asked, “Who asked you to go through my phone?” I didn’t sleep in the house that day. I quickly rushed to pick up the boy from school, picked a few things and left the house for my elder sister’s place. I begged her to keep us for a few days. I told her everything that had happened, and she said, “Oh God, not again. You too?”

My sister had divorced a few years ago and didn’t believe the same was happening to me. My husband called late that night and only asked where the boy was. I said he was with me. He asked when I was bringing him back, and I said never. He warned, “Don’t let me get you. It will be bloody.”

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It took him one month to see me. He had come with elders, carrying an apology on his head and tears on his shoulders. According to him, he had been able to settle his issues with the girl involved, so I should forgive him and return home. When I narrated everything he did to me, even his own parents were stunned, yet they threw apologies around carelessly, hoping I would step on one and fall.

It was the last time I spoke to him face-to-face. Even in court, while going through the divorce, I avoided him. You should see him today and how his life has turned out. He can’t even send child support. He looks like someone I should send ex-husband support to. It pains my heart that my boy is growing up knowing he has a father like him.

But I’m doing my best and also praying for him to have his life turn around. He needs it.

—Rebecca   

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