If you haven’t read the first part of this story, here’s the link . Kindly read it before starting this one.
I entered the room and he was lying in bed naked with empty dishes next to the bed. When he saw me, he sprang up from bed and said, “Oh, you’re back so soon? You couldn’t last the day?” “What are you doing in the house at this time?” I asked him. Excuses. Excuses and more excuses about his job. Unbeknownst to me, all the while he dressed up as if he was going to work, he didn’t go. Once I left the house, he came back to sleep.
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He was not giving me housekeeping money because, according to him, the work hadn’t taken off the way they anticipated. To make matters worse, he said their rent was due and they were being kicked out of the building. I saw through the lies and excuses and decided to cut to the chase.
I decided to help him find a job so I asked him to give me his CV. He didn’t have one. I wanted to help him design one, but the information I needed to build his CV wasn’t coming. Today this, tomorrow that. So finally he said he was going to do it himself. Months later, no CV. I started digging. You remember he said he was a graduate from the University of Ghana? That was a lie. He said he worked at the bank. He was there as a field sales personnel and was paid on commission.
“Wow! How did I allow this to happen to me?” I asked myself, almost in tears. His highest education was a two-month course he did after SHS. I was scammed, but I’d come a long way to let things fall apart so I decided to build what had been broken.
I had a very big shop that I hired people to manage for me. These young girls at some point messed up with the stocks and ran with my money. I decided I would take a loan from work, restock the shop, and make him manage it. He wasn’t going to necessarily be the person behind the sales desk. He was supposed to supervise the new salesgirls so they didn’t mismanage my investment.
We had a chat and I threw this suggestion in. He told me, “You have your own shop and you’re still working for someone else? Why don’t you resign from your work and manage the shop yourself? I’m not going to do that for you if you don’t see the wisdom in what I’m saying.”
True to his words, he never did it. He would stay home all day, wait for me to return from work, prepare meals, and serve him before he would eat. He stopped interacting with my son. He wouldn’t even help him do his homework. I had to return from work and help him do it myself. The only thing he did in the house was sleep, eat, have sex with me, and sleep again. All other things were left to my care.
A year later, our rent expired. I wasn’t going to cough up that amount to pay rent again so I discussed it with my dad and he asked me to complete the outhouse of his house and move in. I used my personal savings to fix the outhouse and moved in with him. A two-bedroom outhouse so my son took the other room. When we moved in, I had nothing left in my account, but Foster would go to the shop he said he wouldn’t manage, take money from the girls, pick some of the items, and go to church with them.
This man said he was going to concentrate on his ministry, but I never for once saw him pray at dawn or even pick up his Bible to study. He rather left the church I met him at and joined forces with a friend who had started a new church in a classroom somewhere. He forced me to attend that church with him, which I did, but my spirit never found peace in that church so I left. This also became a huge fight I wouldn’t want to add to this story to make it longer than it already is.
We had been married for over a year and this man had never given me housekeeping money or paid utilities or even bought a candy for me. Instead, he would watch me dress up in the mirror and ask me, “So are you sure you’re going to work with this dressing or you’re meeting another man after work?”
He wasn’t working so he had a lot of free time to engage in jealousy. If I didn’t come home early after work, he would call one of my uncles and tell him that I had gone to meet my child’s father in a hotel hence the lateness. My uncle would also call and wouldn’t listen to my side of the story but instead jump to conclusions.
This is what birthed the jealousy. At some point I decided I wasn’t going to sleep with him again because I was scared he would get me pregnant and that would also add to my problem. So when he approached me for intimacy, I pushed him away. Sometimes he would fight with me until I obliged, but I didn’t make it easy for him. When I was ovulating, he could bring fire and brimstone but I wouldn’t let him have his way. Eventually, I left our room and joined my son in his room.
So he concluded I’d found another man. He would fight me on the way I dress; he would pick up my phone and read messages and ask why someone was referring to me as dear. He would call my uncle and tell him I was sleeping around. The whole jealousy got to a crescendo when my office bought a car for me for my long service award. This guy accused me of sleeping with someone to get a car. Every step I took forward in life, I was met with jealousy and accusations.
I was going through all this but I never mentioned it to any family member. I kept things to myself because he was my husband and I wasn’t going to wash my dirty linen outside and come inside and lie next to him. But one day, the frog got choked on water so it belched.
He told me after a fight, “You should be grateful I married you. Which man in his right sense would marry a born one? God put me in your life to break the born one spirit in your family and instead of you to keep quiet and watch God, you’re here running your mouth.”
My dad had a child before marrying my mother. That was what he referred to as “born one spirit in your family.”
He could say anything and go scot-free but not when you bring my family into the issue. I responded, “Foster, I swear you’ve exhausted your limit. You dare bring my dad into this issue? Good. He built this house that you’re comfortably living in rent-free. Today, you won’t sleep here. Pack your things and leave my house!”
It was like a movie. I didn’t allow him to sleep in the house that evening. He picked up his shirt and left. The next time I saw him, he had come with his family for us to settle the issue. That was when I narrated my story for the first time. Everyone was shocked. His family asked if what I was saying was true. That he had never given housekeeping money since three years that we had been married. And he nodded. His aunt said, “So why did you bring us here to disgrace us?”
My uncle added, “If this is what you’ve taken my daughter through then you’re a wicked man.” The heat was on him. He wished the earth would open to swallow him alive. Finally my uncle said, “I won’t break this marriage but this is what we are going to do. You’re going to pay housekeeping money for three years and pay rent for the time you’ve been married. Once you are able to pay that, you can come for your wife.”
He stepped out and I never saw him again until we met in court for a divorce. The judge asked me, “Do you want him to compensate you in any way before I declare the divorce?” I responded, “No, I don’t want anything from him.” The judge was like, “You don’t want anything after everything? What about the money he borrowed from you?” I answered, “Nothing. I just want the divorce.”
The judge looked him in the face and said, “You’re very lucky. Go out there and be a man worth his salt so you don’t get back here again or else it would be very rough for you.”
Three Months After Our Breakup, He Got Married
I went to the registry, I signed, he also signed, and we went our separate ways.
Two years later, I still wear my ring because I’m still not ready to explain everything I’ve gone through to those who would ask, “Why are you not wearing your ring?” But would I marry again?
Hmmm, I won’t say no and I won’t say yes because I don’t know what the future holds and who would come along. Love is sneaky yet a good thing if you find the one who speaks your love language. I will wait and hope and let go of the past so fresh air can come through my heart.
—Freda
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