My husband. He wasn’t sure he was going to marry me. I wasn’t sure either. I was with him because it was safe. That aside, I loved what he brought in me during sex.
He was explorative. He touched buttons. He triggered emotions I didn’t know existed in me. I didn’t like the kind of relationship we had but I knew once we were in bed, the scores would be settled.
He lived outside of town so it was a distance relationship. He came home once every week. Then it became once every fortnight. It turned to once every month before it became haphazard.
He would come like a thief in the night and disappear like a shadow in the presence of the light. I didn’t complain.
He didn’t complain. When he was away, we didn’t talk much but it was good. We could go for two days without talking. It was safe. It was serene. It was madness but we loved the madness.
We were like that for four years until I got pregnant. I asked him, “Now what?” He answered, “We have to get married. A child is coming.
It has to come and meet us together as parents who are ready to give it a good home.” After that discussion, we didn’t talk about marriage again. We didn’t discuss the how, the when or the what. He was looking at me. I was looking at him. The pregnancy didn’t change a thing. Not how I felt or how we communicated.
I would do everything for him because he was safe to be with. I met Akala one day. A man who saw me once and was determined to know me beyond my face and my name. I was three months pregnant.
I did everything to push him away but he kept coming. He appeared in my house one day and I was like, “Who showed you where I live?” “When you like someone,” he said, “you look for where they live.”
He was taking things too far so I told him I was pregnant. “Almost four months pregnant. The man is away. Once the baby comes, we are getting married.” He said, “Oh you two are not married? Then I still have a chance.” I laughed at his audacity. He laughed at something he only knew of. I thanked him and told him I wasn’t interested in another relationship.
He asked me to think through things because he was a good man and was desperate for a woman like me. “A woman who’s carrying another man’s child?” I asked. He answered, “That’s how I found you so I can’t complain.
He was there to see the child before the father came a week later. He brought us gifts and brought us care. He promised he lived not too far from us so we could call whenever we needed him.
I had his number but I never called him. I didn’t even save his number until I delivered. I asked my baby’s father, “The baby is here. Now what?” So we got married the day the baby was named. We kept staying apart.
He kept coming around once every time he wanted to come. He sent money for the child and me. He paid our medical bills. He took care of us but he wasn’t present.
I still didn’t complain. I loved the safety of his presence in my life. It wasn’t lovey-dovey but it worked. It was efficient though it lacked a lot of things. My baby was six months old when I slept with Akala.
He didn’t stop coming so out of pity, I thought of giving him what he wanted.
I hadn’t seen my husband in three months. We wanted to visit him but he kept giving us excuses. Akala was always there, coming in and going out as if he was responsible for us. I gave him sex once and I liked it so I gave him sex again.
When my husband finally came around, I withdrew from him. It could be guilt. It could be a shame. It could be fear. I don’t know but I didn’t go close to him.
My husband is also the kind who would barely touch you if you don’t initiate. The sex that brought us the pregnancy, when I touched him that night, he told me he wasn’t in the mood. If we followed his mood map, we wouldn’t have had a child.
He didn’t touch me and I didn’t touch him so we couldn’t get intimate. He left. Akala was here. He kept asking for another round. I knew what the previous rounds had done to my marriage so I kept pushing him away.
He kept coming. The last time my husband was around, he wanted it. I gave him excuses. That I was sick.
That I had white. That the world had fallen on me and I was struggling to escape from the debris. He understood me and left. I no longer sleep with Akala.
He’s still knocking on my door but it’s locked tight. I no longer sleep with my husband. He doesn’t initiate but the few times he did, I gave him excuses.
He’s still my safe option but I think we are doing marriage wrong. We ought to have signed in court long ago but he doesn’t mention it and the few times I mentioned, he told me it’s not the certificate that will marry me.
I’m a cheat. I’m part of the statistics of women who cheated on their husbands. I think of it and it gives me migraine. My child is good. He has a safe father but I don’t have a safe marriage so I want to confess and leave.
I don’t think I would feel any greater loss if my marriage comes to an end today but it’s the safety I’ll miss. I don’t know where to turn to and I want to be careful I don’t make a mistake.
So I’m here giving you a piece of my puzzle to solve. Is it safe to confess? —Ophelia This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you.
