I don’t know when my husband changed, but one day it clicked that some things were not the same again. I watched him very closely. The smile on his face was broader and tainted with malice. He smiled a lot while typing on his phone, and anytime a call came through, he wouldn’t pick up. Instead, he would walk out and come back an hour later.

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One evening, he did the same thing, so I called his number a few minutes later, and it was on call waiting. I allowed the phone to ring to the end, thinking he was going to pick up the call. He didn’t. He came back home an hour later and asked me why I was calling. I answered, “Nothing. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He went to the washroom with his phone and spent forever there while I was helping the kids with their homework. All night, I started thinking back to when he started doing that and how I didn’t notice. My mind travelled very far and still couldn’t find the exact time he started acting that way.

I put my eyes on the ground and my heart on top of the roof so he wouldn’t step on it. I tried going through his phone, but at every step, I met one password or another. I gave up and started complaining. “Why are you taking calls outside? Do you want to tell me there is no network in this house?” “Who called, and why did you walk out with the call?” “Who are you chatting with that you don’t mind your kids asking you to help with their homework?”

All these questions were met with defense and insinuations. He said it was a business call. He told me he was talking to a friend abroad who was teaching him how to travel overseas. One day he snapped, “Why all these questions? Don’t you also have a phone to talk to somebody on?”

I became a detective, staring at the movement of his fingers while he typed his password. While watching TV, I turned my phone camera on and zoomed in on his hand so I could video his password. I got it live and clear. That night, I went through his messages. Everything had been deleted. Even his call logs had only a few contacts.

It didn’t help his case. It only heightened my suspicion. So one evening, while he stepped out to make such calls, I locked the door, turned off the lights, and slept. I intended not to open the door for him, but he knocked and knocked until it started getting embarrassing. I thought the other tenants would start asking questions, so I opened the door.

He walked in briskly and angrily. I thought he was even going to kick me. “How dare you lock the door knowing very well I was outside? Are you the one who pays rent in this house?” I shot back, “Who do you talk to this late that you can’t stay in your house to receive such calls? If that person is that important, then go and stay with her so you don’t need to talk to her on the phone.”

He picked a shirt, changed into trousers, and walked out of the house. He said, “Good. Take the house since you want me out.”

It was a Friday night when he left the house. He turned off his phone and came back on Saturday night. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t ask where he went or why he came back. I cooked and served him. I thought he would be scared and not touch the food, but this man ate everything as if he hadn’t been fed where he was coming from. Then he took his bath and slept. I took his phone and went through it. There was no message to ring an alarm. I was even expecting to read a conversation between him and his friend, telling the friend what had happened, but I didn’t see that.

He was really covering his tracks very well.

Weeks later, he came home very late from work, so again I went through his phone, and this time there was something to read. The lady is called Mabel. They share an office complex, so they are not far from each other. It looked like the lady wanted him to spend the night with her, and my husband didn’t. When he texted the lady that he was home, she said, “Find something to be angry about and storm out of the house like you did the other time. I miss spending nights with you.”

I took a photo of the chat with my phone and put his phone down. In the morning, while he was stepping out to work, I told him, “My greetings to Mabel. Tell her you don’t need to be angry to leave the house. She can keep you to herself until she’s satisfied.”

He froze. He asked what I was talking about, and I said, “Ask your phone. Everything is in there.” He called me a liar and then asked what I was looking for on his phone. “Who gave you the password? You’ve hacked into my phone? Do you know it’s illegal?”

I recited his password to him like a nursery rhyme. He was shocked, but I don’t know what shocked him more—the password or the fact that I had read his messages. He slowly walked out of the door without offering any explanation.

I was home when he came back from work. I locked the door and asked him to go back to Mabel. He knocked calmly and spoke faintly, asking me to open the door. When sinners are caught, they lose their gusto. He didn’t fight back. He pleaded instead. He stayed at the gate until morning.

When he entered, he didn’t fight. He asked for forgiveness and pleaded that I should not escalate things. It was no longer, “Are you the one who pays the rent around here?” It was rather, “Let’s settle this without bringing in a third person.”

Of course, I did bring in a third person. I called his father and told him everything. When he sat us down to resolve the issue, he asked what I wanted. I answered, “I want him to change and not talk to the lady again, but they are both in the same office complex. How will I know?”

Marriage Through the Eyes of Millennials and Gen-Z

We are back home, trying to heal and patch the crack, but it’s not easy for me. My kids know there’s something wrong, so they ask me, “Mom, are you okay?” I laugh and behave well, but their question brings tears to my eyes.

I don’t know how long this pain is going to last. I haven’t forgiven him. The fact that the lady is still close is my problem. I can tolerate him, but I don’t know for how long before I snap.

—Grace

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