My husband is in a wheelchair. He was brought home from the hospital a week ago. I’d wanted to share this story months ago when the accident happened, but I still didn’t know what to do. Now I know what to do. I think I’ve heard the voice of the universe whispering the answers in my ears, and I’ve heard it loud and clear.

I was pregnant when he left home for a job outside town. He didn’t need to go, but he insisted he needed money to take care of the child I was carrying. He promised to come home every weekend until the job was completed in a month’s time. He didn’t come home again until nearly a month later. I went through that phase of the pregnancy all alone while he was away doing a job he didn’t have to do.

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I got the hint that he was there with a lady I knew as his colleague, Rosemary. The informant told me they were living together. He denied it and made it look like I was the one bringing issues into our marriage. Once, when he came home, Rosemary called at night, and I saw the call myself, but he said it wasn’t the Rosemary both of us knew. She kept calling at night, even when we were getting intimate.

So one day, out of frustration, I picked Rosemary’s number and called her to warn her to stay away from my husband. It was the worst mistake I ever made. Maybe the pregnancy hormones were acting strongly because the woman I was could never do that. Because of that call, my husband left home and didn’t return until my mom and dad called and begged him to forgive me.

I was seven months pregnant while he was having this fight with me. My mom asked me to call Rosemary and apologize if it would bring peace into my marriage, and I did that. My dignity fell off the cliff when Rosemary asked me, “Why are you begging for forgiveness now? I thought you were a woman with steel breasts.”

She burst into laughter while I hung up the call. My husband came home, but everything about the marriage became stale. The love was gone. The passion had dissipated. Our home felt like an empty house. We barely talked until I delivered a boy. The joy of the child made me forget about all the pain and embarrassment because I had something to take my mind off my husband.

He travelled again. He didn’t tell me about this trip until the very morning he had to go. He said it was an emergency. Oh, I forgot to say that he had bought a new car, so he was always looking for an opportunity to drive it around. I asked when he was returning, and he told me he could return that very day, but if he wasn’t able to finish the work early, then he would sleep over.

A few hours after he had gone, I received a message that my husband had been involved in an accident and was in critical condition. Our son was only five months old. The thought of raising him alone flashed through my mind, so I quickly knelt down and, in tears, prayed to God to save my husband. “He’s not a saint, dear God, but please forgive him and restore his strength for the sake of this baby.”

We were on our way to the hospital, my mom and I, when we heard the news of Rosemary’s demise. She was in the car with my husband, but she didn’t survive. My mom was carrying the baby while I sat in the corner of the car with my head resting on the front seat. I cried. It took courage to enter the hospital to see him. His situation was indeed critical.

We were there until his parents and elder brother came. I asked permission to leave and never went there again until days later. My breast milk ceased for days, though my breasts were heavy and painful. Every day when I woke up, I grappled with what to do next. He was in the hospital for three months. I visited. When he started talking, they said he asked about me, but when I was there, he couldn’t look me in the eyes.

God saved him but left him in a wheelchair, maybe to teach him a lesson and also let him know he couldn’t be going up and down like he used to. The day he was brought home, I asked him one simple question, “Now what?” He answered, “It’s all in your hands.”

It was the first time in our marriage that I was hearing that statement and also believing that I had hands that something could be left in. I told him respectfully, “My hands are full. There’s a baby, and the way you are right now, you also need the same care as the baby. I don’t think I can do all that. I will take the baby with me while you figure the rest out.”

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He said he had asked for forgiveness since he was at the hospital, but I hadn’t forgiven him. I replied, “I’ve forgiven you long ago. A life has been lost in this fight, and you think it’s worth it for me to hold grudges? No. But it also doesn’t mean I should stay and suffer for the rest of this tiny life I have left. Let me take care of the baby while you figure yourself out.”

I haven’t left yet because I haven’t found a place for me and the boy. I don’t want to return home to my parents. Those folks are so forgiving that they will spend the rest of their lives convincing me to go back to my husband. I don’t want that interference. I want peace to care for my son. I want peace to gather the pieces on the floor and see if I can put them together. Once I leave, the dowry drink will come, and that would be the beginning of the end.

#IStayedAfterTheyCheated

—Abena     

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