Matilda wasn’t a friend. She was a sister. If you didn’t know our beginning, nothing would convince you that we met as friends. From SHS, we were that tight. We went to different universities, but that didn’t separate us. Her dad would see me and tell me my sister was misbehaving. She would come to my house, and my mom would tell me, “Your sister is looking for you.”

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

Life couldn’t separate us. Distance couldn’t try. Our hardships tried, but we proved equally able to match them. I was there when Fiifi came into her life. When she was proving stubborn, Fiifi sought help from me. “Let your sister know that I’m not going to break her heart. I’m in for good. Please put in a word for me.”

I didn’t force her to choose Fiifi, but I put in a word. I knew her heartbreaks and relationship failures, so I was careful not to push her into something that would hurt her in the end. I told her, “This guy has been insistent. At least give him space and study him. I’m with you. If he tries something stupid, we’ll deal with him together.”

She started giving Fiifi attention until, much later, they started dating seriously. I was with them at the initial stages, but lovers need darkness and space to flourish, so I stayed back as they grew stronger together. A year into their relationship, Fiifi traveled abroad. We used to joke we were both single, thinking Fiifi might find another woman abroad and leave Tilly. But two years later, he was back to marry Matilda.

I was the uncontested maid of honor. I was the chief executive of the wedding planning business. Even where they should have their honeymoon passed through my office. During the wedding, when she was advised to be wary of friends, I didn’t bother because I wasn’t a friend. I was a sister. But right after the honeymoon, things started changing before my eyes.

We were no longer the carefree sisters, which I understood very well, but every little opportunity she had, she tried to advise me on marriage and why I needed to marry too. I told her it wasn’t my intention to remain single, which she knew. We were no longer us. Everything had Fiifi’s name printed in the middle. He was no longer Fiifi but “my husband.”

“My husband said this…”
“My husband doesn’t want me to do that…”
“I will have to ask my husband…”
“You’re not married, so you won’t understand when my husband says…”

Because I didn’t want her to call me jealous or envious, I bore it all with the grace of a sister who understands. Even when she was clearly rubbing her marriage in my face, I stood still and calm until she was done doing it. We saw each other less than we used to. That too was understandable.

I was sick for over three weeks, but Matilda didn’t visit. I spent three days at the hospital; she didn’t even call. When I was discharged and I called to complain, she said, “I wanted to come ooo, but I had to do something for my husband.”

No apology. Nothing.

I decided our time as sisters was long gone, so I would keep to myself. I stopped calling her and looking out for her. She stopped calling too. We watched each other’s statuses until I didn’t see hers again. She was pregnant for nine months. I only knew it from other friends. She gave birth, and the baby was named. I got to know it from friends. She posted all that on her status, but I had been blocked from seeing it. I accepted my new place in her life.

We went two years without talking until one day she called me. She talked extensively about how we’d allowed life to separate us. “How can we both be in Accra but not see each other?” she asked. “We don’t have to let that continue. We are sisters. We should act as one.”

I only listened and didn’t judge. She started calling often and talked about meeting and being us again. We met one day, and I saw her baby for the first time. Beautiful girl. She joked her child resembled me instead of herself. Honestly, I was happy to see her. It felt like what I’d lost had been found. We talked and laughed, but I realized her laughter wasn’t deep. Her marriage was suffering. Fiifi had gone back abroad, and things were falling apart. She needed someone to talk to, someone who could fill the void in her life. I was the one she came back to.

She ranted while I listened. She said, “My sister, I’ve been through a lot ooo. Marriage has taught me harsh lessons paa.” I still listened and didn’t say a word. She asked, “Won’t you say anything?” I answered, “What can I say? I’ve never been married before.”

She calls often. She wants us to hang out often. She wants to use me to clear her head, to help her go through her troubles. I’m also building a relationship with a man who has been with me for a year. He’s a good man for now. All is well; he’s even talking marriage. Tilly doesn’t know yet. I don’t want her to know. This man needs my time, so I give him that.

She’s not happy that I say no to her often. She tells me to open up and wonders why I don’t share my relationship stories with her. I tell her nothing is going on in my life. “Nothing is going on, but you don’t have time for us,” she would say. When I post a photo of a nice place, she complains and asks why I didn’t go with her. She wants to make it look like she never left. She wants me to accept her wholly like we were in times past, but all I say to myself is, “Where will I be when her marriage begins to work again?”

Yesterday, she told me she was considering divorce. When I didn’t say anything, she asked, “Are you for me or against me?”

How The Death Of Our Son Nearly Brought Our Marriage To An End

I wish she knew that I’m for myself, just as she was for herself when things were going right. I don’t hate her. I’m not angry. I still wish her well. I want her marriage healed so she will be happy again. The only problem is, I don’t trust her to be a sister when things go right in her life. She’ll throw sisterhood away just like she did. I’ve learned.

—Suzzy

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.

*******