This was the man who opened doors for you, who stood up when you walked into a room. Our friends used to say they wanted our kind of love. And honestly, it was easy. I liked him too much. I put in the effort and he did the same. Marrying him was not a compromise or a settling, it was just meant to happen.

The kids came and we did not have a single problem. Little squabbles here and there, nothing we could not solve before the sun went down. He was a good husband and an even better father.

He started hiding his phone. Coming home late. His excuses began running out and slowly, without me even realising it, he started turning into a monster.

Every day it broke my heart into very small pieces. But what kind of wife would I be if I did not pray? So I prayed. “God, help him. Correct his ways. Help him. Let him love me as Christ loved the church. God, I beg you. Mercy, Lord.”

I have that prayer right here in my notepad. I would wake up and affirm it, pray it over my husband and my family every single morning.

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He said it was the devil and I felt vindicated. I prayed even more. I believed God was making a way for me, doing the correction behind the scenes. I sincerely believed that the devil was behind it all.

Thankfully I learned early that a cheating man will always cheat and never change, so I made peace with that painful truth. Pathetic, isn’t it?

But it got better, in a way. He reduced from many women to just one. She stuck closer to him than superglue ever did to our fingers.

Nothing would turn her away, so I accepted my predicament yet again. I was tired of fighting. I was ready to accept her as the other wife, until she started dictating how my household should be run.

My husband cut our allowance, mine and the children’s. He started policing what I wore. “If you wear short tights it means you are trying to sell yourself out to men.” I asked him where he got that from.

He dodged the question and gathered my dresses into his hands. If anything, I had bought those dresses to entice him.

For the first time, my children started hiding when daddy came home. They tiptoed around the house when he was in the living room and never came out of their rooms. They asked questions. “Mma, where is dada? When is he coming home? Why are you always fighting?” I would open my mouth and close it again, halfway through. How do you explain to your children that daddy is no longer in love with mama? That is all they have ever known, so how do you explain that things have changed?

He came home late one night, weeks ago, and started pacing the hallway. He came into our room and destroyed the wardrobe, kicked my things across the floor, raging. He went to the kitchen and threw the utensils, breaking everything in the path of his anger. When I dared to calm him down, he threatened to beat me and the child I was carrying. He pointed at me. “Why are you trying to break what we have? Who is Emmanuel?”

It’s Not God’s Law For A Man To Apologize To A Woman

I shook my head. I do not know any Emmanuel. The only Emmanuel I know is from the Bible. Emmanuel means God is with us. That is all.

Apparently, some Emmanuel had called his other woman to warn her to stay away from him, and so I became the suspect. That one took the cake. I was already so tired of being a good wife to a husband who changed overnight, who stopped loving his wife and his children just to fit the preferences of his sidechick. I had been tolerating it because isn’t that what society says a good wife does? But my cup is full now, and I am willing to fight. Fight her, fight whatever charade has been going on in my own house.

Questions crowd my mind. Even if you are taking my man from me, at least let me have peace to raise my children. What spell have you put on him that has turned him into this person? We have been together nine years and he was not like this. What did you put in his food?

I want to do something to her. I want her to feel the wrath sitting in my chest. I have left it to God but God takes too much of his time doing what fits him. I want a sharp, sharp resolution. I want her to know that she is a woman too, that she is not supposed to hurt me like this. That it is someone’s home she is destroying. That she is pulling my children away from their father, and the time they are losing with him, those ordinary days of daddy coming home and dinner at the table and bedtime and all of it, they will never get that back. Ever. Those are not days you can return.

Every voice in my head is telling me to go over there. To show them. To let her feel what lives in me right now. Because she is a woman. She knows what this feels like, or she should. If the tables were turned would she be happy? If she had to learn how to sleep alone in a bed she used to share, because her husband was wrapped in someone else’s arms, how would she feel? If her children were tiptoeing around their own house, scared to come out of their rooms when daddy was home, how would she feel?

I have left it to God and God is taking his time.

But I am not God.

If you know any man who claim his powers equalls God’s, share it with me

—Everlasting

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