If you haven’t read the first part of this story, here’s the link. Kindly read it before starting this one.

I picked up the phone one morning to call my mate at the fertility centre. I wanted him to know I was pregnant and listen to what he had to say. When I was not getting pregnant, he was the one I spoke to and every word he said calmed me down. I believed he would do the same with the news of the pregnancy too. The phone rang until the tone went dead. He didn’t pick up the call.

Later in the day, I came to Facebook and saw my story published. My heart started beating fast. I read the whole story like a movie being narrated to me. I cried. I asked myself, “How did I get myself into this? They’ll judge me. They’ll insult me. Let me stay away from the comment section.”

I read the story three times but I couldn’t go to the comment section. In the night when my husband was snoring next to me and I couldn’t sleep, I tiptoed to Facebook, telling myself, “By this time all the commenters are sleeping. Let me read the comment fast before they wake up.”

I took my time. I went through the comments one after the other with my heart beating so loud I was scared it would wake my husband up. Everyone told me not to terminate the pregnancy. Every comment said I shouldn’t tell my husband about it. I was waiting for the ones who would judge and insult me. I held my breath each time I moved to a new comment. Everyone was kind—so kind with words that I began to cry.

In the morning, I looked into the mirror and told myself, “Here we go. We are going to handle this as if nothing happened. You’re strong. You’ll keep it. You’ll do what they say you should do. You’re going to be alright.”

I went to work and came home with pregnancy test kits. I showed it to my husband and said, “It looks like we are going to have good news. My period hasn’t come in days. I’m beginning to feel pregnant.”

Early in the morning, I woke him up and we did the test together. It spelt “Pregnant!” with two deep red lines. I looked at his face. I said, “Our prayers are answered!” I was smiling broadly while waiting for a happy reaction from him. He bowed his head down, did “hmmm” and walked back to the bedroom. No word was said. I looked in the mirror and asked myself, “Or he knows it? He knows it’s not his?”

I rushed to him; “Why are you not saying anything? We’ve been working hard for this for how many years? Hmmm? Is that all you can say?” He smiled at me and said, “I’m so happy the only thing that could come from me is hmmm. I’m speechless. I’m happy for us. Pardon my reaction.”

It didn’t look right and didn’t sound right but I held on for the days ahead, assessing his moves to see if he had a hint. He warmed himself slowly into the news, preventing me from doing hard work and telling me I would hurt the pregnancy. He started treating me with care, like I was an egg that would break with little pressure.

I was five months pregnant when my husband came home with his mom and dad one evening. I didn’t know they were coming so I asked why. He told me there was something to talk about and they were going to do it the next morning. My heart leapt out of my chest into my palm. I saw it beating without a sound. “Something to talk about? What is that?”

“Wait until tomorrow morning?” He said.

“He knows my sins? Is that what they are coming to talk about? I asked myself. How do sinners survive in this world? Do they die many times before their death like I’m going through? Just this and I can’t have peace in my life again?”

I woke up to see them seated in the hall. My husband was in the middle with his hands tucked in between his thighs. When I entered, he lowered his head like the sinner in me did each time she faced the truth. His father started, “We came here with a very difficult assignment but we are counting on your forgiving spirit to carry this through…”

My husband had a child with another woman while we were trying to have a child, they told me. The child was two years old already and they believed it was time to let me know. Not only that. The mother of the child was troubling my husband with money issues so my husband wanted to bring the child home to live with us.

I smiled when they finished telling me all that. I said, “No problem. It’s a human being he’s bringing home and he’s going to have a home with me because this is his father’s home.”

They all fixed their gaze on me as if I’d said the most bizarre thing. My husband buried his face in his palm and started crying. His mother stood up and came to hug me and said, “You’ve proven your virtue to us as a well-raised woman. Thank you very much.” His father shook my hand; “Thanks for forgiveness and acceptance. I’m happy you’re my son’s wife.” My husband couldn’t say a word. He didn’t believe I could do that.

READ ALSO: My Woman Wants To Visit Her Ex In His House

A few weeks later, I became a mother to a two-year-old child. I introduced him to our first and advised them to bond because they were the same blood. I was calm through it all because I felt it was the price to pay for my infidelity or if along the line the truth came out, he’ll deal with it the way I dealt with his. He was always shocked about the way I handled it so he woke up to shower praises on me and started treating me like the woman he married.

I gave birth to a bouncing beautiful baby girl. I didn’t want him to see her until I’d done all the inspections. My mom was there before birth. I told her, “Don’t let him see the baby before I do. Don’t even call him when I deliver.”

I held my baby and did the checks. I asked my mom, “Who does she resemble? Me, right?” She smiled and said, “Of course, she’ll resemble you. She’s a girl.” When my husband finally came and saw the baby, he said, “She’s a girl but look at her nose, she picked mine.”

When the DNA came out, he wasn’t the father of my child. I cried for days. I needed someone to talk to, someone who would touch my face and wipe the tears and say, “It’s alright.” I thought of telling my mother. I thought of calling my mate at the fertility centre. I hadn’t spoken to him in ages. I held my daughter in tight places and shed tears. She looked at my face innocently and smiled as if she wasn’t a secret I was keeping from the world.

Anytime my husband came close to her, I felt jittery. “What if he catches some smell and tells me this is not the smell of a child that came from my sperm?” I was always apprehensive.

I had dreams. In my dreams, my husband was chasing me with a machete. In one of the dreams, he had used my flesh to prepare stew and was eating it with Kenkey. I lived in perpetual fear so I asked myself, “How do sinners live? How was my husband able to sleep and snore beside me when he had a child outside? What heart do they have that I don’t have?”

But I remembered the advice I had from this page. I read similar confessions online and the voices of the commenters were unanimous; “Don’t ever confess. Go to the grave with it. It doesn’t kill anyone.”

Surrogacy In Ghana: What You Need To Know

I grew some thick skin in the right places. I vowed not to share it with anyone, not even my own shadow. I thought of sending an update long ago but I said to myself, “No, I’m not going to tell anybody, not even a page on Facebook.” So, what made me finally share it?

So that someday when I grow breasts (read as balls) to share it, it won’t come from my lips but it would rather come from a link.

—Lovelace

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.