I dated Elvis for three years. He wasn’t a bad person, but we didn’t work out. Like every human being, he had his shortcomings. When we had issues, we fought fair and found our way back to love again. When I needed help and he had it, he provided. When he had to labour for me, he did it willingly and gracefully. We started dating when we were in school. He was in Accra while I travelled to Cape Coast for school, but during vacations, we both met at home and continued loving.

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After our national service, he travelled out of town. It was around that time, when he was away doing his service, that I met Kojo. Kojo was a church friend then, but he worked his way closer to me and one day he proposed. I told him I liked him as a person, but unfortunately for him, I had a boyfriend who was out of town.

He understood me but didn’t leave me alone. Later, he met Elvis and realized that he knew him as a person. When I introduced Elvis to him one day while he was in town, the two men shook hands and talked for several minutes. I even had to leave them alone to talk.

Kojo later sent me a message: “Oh, he’s the one you’ve been dating all this while?”
I answered yes, and he added that Elvis was a cool guy.

We started falling apart after national service. Elvis had gotten a job, and according to him, the job was taking all his time. He didn’t call often, and he didn’t come to town for over two years. Slowly, one day we had a conversation, not knowing it would be the last time we spoke. I didn’t blame him for leaving. He didn’t blame me for anything. We just fell apart without closure.

All that while, Kojo was still around. I saw him often, and every Sunday after church he walked me home. He didn’t ask about Elvis and me, but I think he knew the love was no longer there. I don’t know how he found out, but one day he asked if Elvis was still in the picture. I told him, “I haven’t heard from him in a very long while.” He said, “Eiii, are you two no longer together?”

A few weeks later, he intensified his pursuit, and along the line, I said yes to him. I told him, “Elvis will be mad if he finds out I’m dating you, especially since he knows who you are.”
He responded, “I didn’t ask him to leave you lonely. It’s his loss.”

Kojo was very intentional from the start. He talked about marriage and children. He sang about family and told me he couldn’t wait to start his own. I wasn’t surprised when, after two years of dating and after I had started working, he asked me to marry him. He met my dad officially to introduce himself while I was away. He told my dad he would come home soon to do the needful.

A year later, we were married. A year after marriage, we travelled out of town to start life in a new place. We welcomed our first child. The first was only two years old when the second arrived, and then the third—just the family size we both dreamed about.

I think it was after four years of marriage that I heard from Elvis again. He was shocked that I married Kojo—not in a bad way—but he kept repeating, “Kojo? You mean Kojo? Our own Kojo?”

He had moved on just like I had and was very happy for me. He even said he would visit one day to see us.

I didn’t hear from him again until one early morning when I was scrolling through Facebook and saw his obituary poster. Elvis wasn’t a Facebook person, so there wasn’t much written about his death. The person who posted it was thanking everyone for attending the funeral.

I broke down immediately and started crying. My husband was sleeping, so I had space to cry my heart out, asking myself what killed him. I even messaged the person who posted the obituary and asked what happened to Elvis. Later, when my husband woke up and noticed my demeanor, he asked what was wrong. I told him, “I just saw on Facebook that Elvis has died.”

He responded with a grin on his face, “Oh, you didn’t know? That was long ago. I think he’s been buried already, or?”

Suddenly my eyes widened, and my lips froze in an oval shape. “You knew about it? When did you get the news, and why didn’t you tell me?”

He knew everything about Elvis’s death and how he was buried in his hometown. I kept asking, “So why didn’t you tell me?” My voice dropped to a whisper, as though I didn’t even mean to ask out loud. His answer was, “I didn’t think it was important.”

Since then, I’ve lost all affection and light for my husband. He looks pale in my eyes, like a fading shadow. What made it worse was when he added, “So he’s the reason you’re looking this way early this morning?” He was surprised by my sadness and called it unnecessary. I said in my head, “You’re being unnecessarily inhuman.

I don’t hate him for not understanding my grief, but I don’t respect his disregard for my feelings and the way he treated the news of Elvis’s death. He tries to touch me and I feel nothing. Sometimes I want to sleep away from him. It feels like I’m tolerating him instead of loving him as the man I’ve been with all these years.

I thought it was a temporary feeling and that it would go away, but months have passed and I still feel the same. It’s not resentment; it’s a lack of emotion. He says funny things and I don’t find them funny. I’d rather be anywhere else than close to him. All this while, I’ve been thinking about Elvis and what his last days on earth were like. Was he happy? Did he suffer before dying? Did I have a place in his memory before he died?

No, I didn’t love Elvis again after we separated. I didn’t even think of him or consider him an ex. But his death, and the way my husband handled it, has brought me to this place where I don’t know whether to approach my husband and talk about how I feel because of how he treated the news of Elvis’s death, or to keep quiet and live with these feelings until one day they fade away.

—Constance

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