We had done the knocking and were preparing to get married when she got an opportunity to travel overseas. I was happy for her, but I was also disturbed. The distance looked scary, and the fact that the woman I loved would be away for so many years before I saw her again made me shrink. She told me, “Don’t you have faith in what we have? We have dated for five years. Why must you fear a common distance?”

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She made a good point, but I’m not the kind of man for a long-distance relationship. Not that I didn’t trust her, but being alone and still calling myself married felt like an empty place to be. I told her we should do something small and sign at the court before she traveled. She said, “You know I will need money for this trip. Why don’t we use that money to support me? I will make money soon and come to pick you so we can have a bigger wedding.”

I understood her, but I wanted something official so I would know both of us were committed to something. Eventually, we agreed to have a small traditional marriage, just between the families and a few well-wishers. We had a budget and stuck strictly to it from start to the end of the traditional marriage.

After that, I invested every little I had into her travel. When we were still short, I took a loan from a very good friend of mine and gave it to her. I was at the airport with her the day she was traveling. She cried in my arms and said she was going to miss me. I said the same thing. We hugged and didn’t want to let go, but eventually we had to so she could go.

When she got to America, she gave me a call, and the first thing she talked about was the weather. She sent photos and voice notes at night telling me she missed me. I would wake up to these voice notes and yearn to have her close.

A few weeks later, she told me she was pregnant. “Babe, you can’t believe it. I carried the pregnancy from home to this place without knowing until today.”

I was overjoyed. All of a sudden, life wasn’t empty again. I felt complete, knowing I had a seed growing in her. She called one morning, and she didn’t sound happy about the pregnancy. “Look at the weather and the shifts I’m supposed to run. I can’t carry this all alone. I just arrived. How can I keep up?”

I encouraged her and told her to work harder so she could pave the way for me to join her. We talked every day, and whenever we did, I asked how the baby was doing. She kept telling me it was growing fine until one day she said, “I don’t have to keep lying to you. There’s no more baby.”

I screamed, “What? What are you saying?”

She said she had miscarried and didn’t know how to tell me about it. Something didn’t sound right, especially when I started asking for details of what happened. She kept telling me, “Why are you making me go through one of the hardest things I’ve gone through as a woman? I’d rather not talk about it. I woke up and it was gone. There was blood all over.”

I suspected she had an abortion, but I didn’t have any proof. Everything she said about the pregnancy when it happened pointed to that fact, but because I didn’t have proof, I was careful not to push it. I was pained. I was frustrated that the only thing that would keep us physically connected was gone. We talked normally, but the baby issue gnawed at my mind, so one day I asked her, “Please, look in the face of God and tell me the truth because I’ve been haunted. Did you abort it? Just say it, and that’s all.”

She cut the call and didn’t pick up my calls for the rest of that day. Later, she texted that I didn’t care about her health, that all I cared about was what happened to the baby. “Who do you love, me or the baby you didn’t know?”

I was seeking closure. I believed that knowing the truth would set my mind free from all the doubts and “what ifs.” She didn’t talk to me for a whole week because of this issue. I sent messages and begged her to let it go so we could talk. When we finally spoke, she warned, “The next time that comes out of your mouth again, it’s over between us. I can’t have you remind me of what I want to forget.”

I slept and dreamt of a baby I had never met, a girl. She came trying to play with me and called me “Daddy.” When I ran from her, she cried. This dream kept coming anytime I tried to move on from the pregnancy issue, so one day I decided to discuss it with her, but not in connection with what she lost. I said, “It’s funny, but I keep seeing this baby girl in my dreams…”

She sighed heavily, and before I could finish, she cut the call. She went another week without talking to me. She called her father and told him to return my drink because she wasn’t going to marry again. When her dad asked what the issue was, she told him I had been worrying her about a baby.

I told her father everything, and he said, “That’s very strange. She had a miscarriage, and we didn’t know about it?” Her dad tried to talk her into changing her mind, but she kept insisting on the divorce. Later, she sent me a message: “Let me be brutal with you. The weather here doesn’t support a long-distance relationship. You’d better take your drink before you see my wedding photos with another man.”

Because she wouldn’t pick up my calls, I sent her a very long voice note pleading with her. It hadn’t been a year since she left. I reminded her about the good times and all the investment I had made for her to be able to travel. Of all the things I said, she ignored everything and focused on the investment part: “You invested in me, so I should put my head on a plate for you? I will pay you in full—every pesewa so you stop being on my case.”

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I don’t know when she will pay the money. Her parents and family met mine, and within a few minutes, the marriage was dissolved. Less than nine months later, she gave birth to a half-caste baby. She had been dating a white man all along while insisting on a divorce. She cleared our pregnancy so she could have space for the white man’s child.

But we say true love exists. Where?

—Sterling  

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