I cheated on him, and he caught me. He was visibly broken, and I could understand. I asked for forgiveness. He kept asking me what he did wrong. I had no answer. “Is it about money?” I couldn’t answer. “Is he more handsome than I am?” I had no answer. I kept apologizing. “No, I should know the reason you cheated. How many times have you slept with him?”

It was a Friday evening. I had travelled for over an hour to visit Ben in another town. Every Friday, we decided who should visit. His place was more convenient than mine, so I was the one who visited.

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I wanted to see more from Ben, but all he did was give me mixed signals. I’m not saying it was right for me to cheat on him, but he had a role to play in all that. We had dated for close to four years. I was twenty-two when he found me. I always told him that I wanted to marry before I was thirty. He had a job that paid well. When he was transferred out of town, he was made the manager of the new branch he was sent to. That meant an increase in financial status, but he never talked about marriage.

Even when I specifically talked about it, he found a way to change the topic. It was the reason I said yes to this new guy called Charles. He was intentional. He had a plan to make me his wife as soon as he could. We had dated for less than a year, but I already knew his parents, and his sister called me “In-law.”

I wanted to leave Ben and concentrate on Charles, but each time I thought about it, it felt like I was committing an abomination. Ben didn’t do much wrong except for the fact that he didn’t talk about marriage. He provided for me when I needed him to. Anytime I visited and was returning home, he would give me money, and if I specifically asked for a certain amount, he would also give me that.

Ben changed my phone and contributed to paying my rent. On my birthday, he would talk about me everywhere and make me feel like the only one in this world. It wasn’t easy to throw all that away to settle with Charles, who had been in love with me for less than a year.

When it came to finances, Ben was richer. When it came to appearance, Ben was better. When it came to kindness, both of them did their best, but Ben was better. He gave me something more often than Charles did. In an ideal situation, Charles shouldn’t exist in my life, but Ben opened a window of doubt in my mind, and that was where Charles existed.

I’d gone to visit Ben that Friday, and I was on my phone chatting while he was trying to fix something on my laptop. Unbeknownst to me, I’d opened my WhatsApp on my laptop, so he was reading everything I was saying to Charles. He knew why I was smiling while on my phone but said nothing until he’d read enough to understand what was going on.

He was shaking while asking me those questions. Every answer I gave made him angrier. When he asked how many times I’d been intimate with Charles and I said I wasn’t counting, he said, “Just give me an estimate. Once? Twice? Ten times?” I buried my face in my palms. I exhaled loudly and answered, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“That means you’ve done it so many times you’ve lost count.”

I was quiet. He entered the kitchen and came back with a knife. He screamed, “You better tell the truth before I switch you off with this. I said, how many times have you done it with him?” I was gripped with fear. I started quivering. Even my lips couldn’t stay calm when I talked. My voice was shaking. Tears started to fall. I was on my knees begging.

He held the collar of my shirt and pulled me to the washroom and locked the door. “You’re going to stay there until you’re able to remember how many times you’ve done it.”

He took my phone from me and put it off. I was in the bathroom for over three hours. It was dark and eerie. I called out to him, begging him to open the door. When he did, he only stuck his neck in and asked if I’d finished doing the calculations. I said, “Just take it like we’ve done it many times and forgive me.”

He entered the bathroom, slapped my face from left to right, and called me ashawo. “You’re not stepping out ever again.”

He shut the door and left. Hours later, he entered naked to take his shower. I was kneeling and begging while he bathed, intentionally pouring water on me and calling me stinky. “You stink. Wash your sins off.” And then he would throw water on me. He later took my clothes off while the shower ran and took me from behind. I did not have a say. He took it aggressively, like he wanted to hurt me.

He left and shut me inside again. I slept in the bathroom all night. Did I even sleep? Maybe I dozed off for a few minutes, but all night, I was begging him. In the morning, when he opened the door, I didn’t turn. I lay there lifeless, trying to scare him. He screamed my name. I didn’t turn. He slapped my back. I still stayed stiff. I could sense some fear in him. He held my hand and pulled me out of the bathroom, screaming my name.

I opened my eyes and asked, “Where am I? Is that a dream? How did I get here?”

When he left me to go to the kitchen, I quickly took my phone and my laptop and ran out of his room. I didn’t even wear my slippers. I ran as quickly as my legs could carry me. I turned my phone on only when I sat in a taxi.

I took money from my MoMo, boarded public transport, and travelled back home. I didn’t pick up his calls. I didn’t reply to his messages. I didn’t even read them. I was scared he might come to my place, so I went to a friend. Later in the night, we heard a knock. Something told me it was Ben. Yes, it was him.

When my friend told him she hadn’t heard from me since yesterday, he asked her to call me to see if I would pick up. She also called and called. “What’s happening? I’ve been calling her since yesterday,” my friend said.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

He walked away. I sent him a very long voice message telling him I had told my brothers about what happened and they were looking for him. I also threatened that if he dared come close to me, I would report him to the police for the abuse. He said we needed to talk. I said we had nothing to talk about. I blocked his number.

I thought I wasn’t going to survive the night while in the bathroom. I still shudder anytime I think of it. I broke up with him and also begged Charles to give me space to think over my life. I didn’t go back to Charles again. I needed to reorient my life and decide where to go from here. I’m fine, but I’m not fine. I have PTSD, but I’ll be fine.

—Alby     

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