There is a knock on the door. My husband is busy ironing. Our two kids are in their room playing. I’m in the kitchen putting eggs and tomatoes together to turn into something we can eat for lunch. I ask who is at the door but no one responds. The knock comes again, I wipe off the water on my hand and rush to the door to see the person who doesn’t want to talk.

There are two women standing in front of the door. The younger one is carrying a child in her arms. A girl who looks like she hasn’t eaten all day. The older one asks if my husband is home. I nod. She tells me she wants to see him. They don’t look cheerful. The younger woman keeps avoiding my eyes. The older one’s tone sounds like she’s carrying a heavy message. I call my husband and he responds from the bathroom; “I’m bathing. Let them in.”

Our marriage and life had always been peaceful. Ten years ago when we got married, we were everything good that happened to each other. We never had any trouble that we couldn’t solve. Nobody in the community ever saw us fighting or exchanging words. My husband has a reputable position in church. When the church decided to institute a counselling committee, I was picked as the secretary. Wherever we went, respect followed us.

Our firstborn came two years after marriage. Our second followed two years later. We didn’t want a big family so we put an end to childbirth. I placed myself on birth control so we don’t get an accidental baby. Every portion of our lives didn’t happen by accident. We were a result of good planning and prayers. Our happy home was all we had so we fought with our might to protect it, treasure it and always keep it happy but the presence of those women changed everything.

I sat them down and gave them water. The little child complained of hunger so I made tea and toasted bread for her. While she sat at the corner eating, my husband walked in. He entered with a smile but immediately he set eyes on the two women, his face changed. “How did you know my house?” He asked while looking at the younger woman with fury in his eyes. She answered, “Oh, you thought I wouldn’t know? Was that the reason you didn’t take me seriously when I said I would bring your daughter to you?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Daughter?”

I looked at the girl in the corner, innocently munching on the food as if she hadn’t eaten for days and all of a sudden, I started seeing the resemblance. “How did it happen? When?”

I took a seat and observed the drama. The older woman called for calm. My husband was shaking, he looked at me, I frowned. The woman narrated the reason they were in our house that late afternoon.

My husband got the younger woman pregnant and accepted responsibilities on condition that the lady would keep the child a secret. He was sending them money monthly until the money stopped flowing when the baby was less than a year old. According to the older woman, every attempt to make my husband fulfil his fatherly duties failed. They had no option but to fish him out and present the child to him. She said, “My daughter has done well. She has done it all alone for two years. She wants to go to school so we brought your child to you so you continue from there.”

My husband roared, “No, you can’t bring her here. Are you not the mother? This is my matrimonial home. You can’t bring her here without informing me first.”

I asked, “Charles, can you look in the face of God and tell me the truth? Is the child yours or not?” He answered, “She said I’m the father and I accepted but now I’m beginning to doubt.” The lady stood up and rushed toward my husband, attempting to fight him. Her mom called her back to her seat. I told them, “No problem. The child will stay here. Is there anything else you want us to do?”

The room went dead. Everyone turned their faces towards me as if they didn’t hear what I said. I repeated myself, “He accepts the child is his so we’ll take her in and give her a home. What else do you want from us?”

“Nothing more. That’s all we came for,” the mother of the child responded.

I left them and rushed to the kitchen to cry. I had said what I said only to protect the family’s reputation and also avoid problems but my heart was on fire. When they opened the door and they were leaving, I hoped they would take the girl along but they didn’t. Even when the girl got up and began crying, they rushed out and shut the door behind them. For the first time in my cooking life, I was crying but the onions were not responsible for my tears.

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We didn’t talk about it until days later when he came to apologize. I’ve never had a reason to forgive anything since we got married so I didn’t know how to forgive such a thing. He cried and I watched on. He told me the story. How they met and how the whole thing happened. I asked why he decided to hide it from me when we had always been transparent. “I didn’t know how. It was heavy. I was even dying of guilt. I didn’t know what to do,” he answered

I took the child out and shopped for her. Nothing was her fault. She was only the result of the fault. Whatever she pointed at, I bought it for her. I introduced her to our kids as their sister. They didn’t ask any questions. They jumped at her and started playing with her. They took her around the house, showing her everything they owned and how it was used. The innocence of children is really sickening.

We got ready to answer questions about her. My husband wanted to hide the truth, even from his own parents. I told him, “You’re no longer going to hide. Everyone who deserves to know will know.”

We lived with the child for only six months. I didn’t harbour any angst against her but her presence made the house heavy. My husband was avoiding her and it was so obvious it broke my heart. I couldn’t unsee her. She was like a black spot in a white dress, difficult to unsee but I lived with her like one of our own. My husband woke up one morning and told me, “I’m sending her to my mother. She’ll be better off there.”

I didn’t protest so he sent her away. It’s been over a year but I can’t shake off the drama and her memory out of my mind. Anytime my husband visits her, I get angry in my heart. I won’t talk to him for days. He wouldn’t know the reason for my silence. When he brings her up in our conversation, I avoid it. I say nothing but get angry within.

The truth of the matter is, I didn’t forgive my husband. I never did. I treated the matter the way I did because I was guarding the reputation of the family. I’ve never loved my husband again since that day. Everything I do for him, I do it out of duty; “Wives do this so let me do it.” I’ve never done anything for him out of love. It’s so intense I’m considering divorce.

I’ve realized I need to be far away from him to heal but I can’t go and heal and return to the place where I got hurt. So I will heal and remain at the place I got healed instead. I don’t know if I’ll regret my decision. I love this family with all my heart. I love the way the kids love their father and I’m jealous anytime they are happy around him because I can’t be happy around him unless I fake it.

He Woke Me Up At 2am And Asked Me To Go To My Mother’s House

So divorce it is. I’ll forgive him someday for treating my love and life this way but if I continue to remain as his wife, I may die early. He doesn’t know my plans so he walks around here happily with his chest up as if all that drama didn’t happen. He has moved on like men do when issues of such nature happen. They call us emotional for not letting go, forgetting we are the sufferers of their actions, their infidelity. We are the bearers of the hurt they give. When I’m gone, I pray it hurts him the way I’ve been hurt for over a year.

—June

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