I met her once and I was in love. I had sleepless nights, thinking about how to make her mine. I walked around places I thought I could bump into her. I sent messages through other people to her until I gathered the courage to propose to her. She smiled and said no to my proposal. I explained that I wasn’t coming to waste her time, so she should at least try me.

I chased her for a week before she accepted to be my girlfriend. A few days later, we were getting intimate. The passion was so strong between us, we allowed it to consume us. We dated for a couple of weeks before she told me she had something to tell me. She said, “I’m pregnant.”

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My heart stopped beating for a second. She continued, “I was pregnant before we met, so you’re not responsible.” I took a step back. I asked what she was saying, and she told me she had a boyfriend called Sibo. He got her pregnant but didn’t want to accept the pregnancy, so he’d run to Accra. She added, “I don’t want to give you what is not yours. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right from the start. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

I appreciated her honesty and asked about the details of her relationship with Sibo. She said their relationship was over, which was the reason he didn’t accept the pregnancy and ran from town. I still loved her, so I decided I would let her have the baby while I continued loving her from the side.

Our relationship persisted, but we stopped getting intimate. A lot of people thought the pregnancy was mine until we explained to them. When she was six months or so gone, she told me she wanted to leave home because the room she was sharing with her mom was too small to contain her and the baby. I asked how much she had saved for rent. The amount she mentioned was nothing to write home about.

I took that money and added a substantial amount to it to be able to rent her a single-room self-contained apartment. I helped her move into it. I bought most of the things that made the house a home. Her mom blessed my name and asked me to marry her daughter. In fact, that was the plan for me. To get the baby out of the way and marry her.

I rented a place for her while I was living in my father’s house, but because she was good to me, I didn’t mind the sacrifice. She gave birth to a boy. She contacted the family of Sibo, and they all denied they knew anything about the pregnancy. She said Sibo wasn’t picking up her calls. She was left alone to care for the baby, but I was by her side, providing for her when I could and supporting her when I should.

We started getting intimate again when the child was two years old. I missed her. I asked her to get ready, as we were going to marry soon. My father didn’t support my relationship with her, especially because she was pregnant. But during the time she was pregnant, I didn’t make anything official. I even denied she was my girlfriend. I told people we were just friends. So when I finally told my dad about her, he asked, “Was she not the same lady you said was a friend? Is the child yours? So why do you want to marry her?”

My dad’s stance was clear, but I insisted she was the one I wanted because I’d seen a light in her that I hadn’t seen anywhere. Reluctantly, my dad agreed for me to follow my heart.

Anytime I mentioned marriage, she told me her child was too young, so I should wait until the child became a little independent. Her child was five years old when she finally agreed that we should get married. Her mom gave me a list, and I started buying the things. I was with her when she told me that she was feeling pregnant. I said she should go to the hospital and check, but a few days later, she showed me the test kit that said she was pregnant.

We had dated for six years and were on our way to getting married. I had already purchased everything, so I told her we should do something small as quickly as possible before the pregnancy began to show. She agreed, but anytime I took a step toward the wedding, she took two steps backward. Finally, she said in her family, it was an abomination to marry a pregnant woman. It would bring bad luck to our marriage, so I should take my time until she delivered.

I didn’t agree. To hell with family beliefs. I insisted we should marry. I sought her mother’s support, and I got it. Even her mom told me she was lying. There was no such belief in their family, but when she kept dragging her feet, I begged her to be honest with me. “I know women are happy when it’s about marriage. Why are you not happy that we get to marry before the pregnancy begins to show? You want to go through the embarrassment twice?”

That day was the worst day in my relationship life. I wanted to disappear, to become part of the air. My swelling pride as a man deflated when she told me she didn’t know for sure if I was the father of the unborn child. I retorted, “Who else could be the father? We’d shared a bed and dreams. What haven’t we done over the years for you to tell me you’re not sure?”

She said she was involved with another man while I was busy thinking I was the only man in her life. The man she mentioned was a married man, a man who could as well be her father. I hung my shirt around my neck and walked to my father’s house where I belonged. My heart was cold. Tears didn’t fall, but my eyes yearned for them. For several nights, I couldn’t sleep.

Her mom called me when she heard what her daughter had to say. She thanked me and said I’d tried. “If you were my son, I wouldn’t allow you to marry a woman like my daughter, so break free from her and never come back. Even if the child turns out to be yours, take your child away from her,” she told me. “Don’t allow a shameless woman like her to raise your child.”

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My girlfriend never called to say sorry or even try to explain herself or even lie to me. I decided to also stay away until the baby was born. I prayed fervently, asking God that the baby shouldn’t be mine so I would have no link with her for the rest of my life.

Maybe God answered my prayers. Maybe it’s just what it was. The child wasn’t mine. I jubilated like I’d won a big lottery. But when the dust settled, I asked myself, “What if I’m not capable of making children? All these years and I’m not the one? How long did it take the married man to impregnate her?”

I still don’t have the answers, but I know it wouldn’t be long until I get the answer. I’ll find a worthy woman and her seed will be mine. Even then, I’ll test to be sure. Not because I won’t trust her, but because my ex has made me doubt myself.

—Abraham     

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