My Life Ended on a Wednesday

My life  came crashing down in minutes when my husband confessed he cheated on me with a former secondary school classmate. As he spoke, I felt a sharp pain slice through my heart, through every fibre of my being, and totally knocked me out.

I know I was still sitting on the only chair in our bedroom and holding the phone to my ears, I was still still alive but my thoughts were racing at the speed of light leaving me breathless and gasping for air.

He couldn’t face me.

He had to tell me over the phone to evaluate the tone of my voice and my reaction and then calculate his chances of coming home afterwards.

He ended the call with the usual cliche, “I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry for doing this to you, I promise it will never happen again. Please forgive me.”

I didn’t yell.

I didn’t ask any questions.

I was as calm as I could be when I asked if he could end the call. It surprised me: my quietness. It was not something that most women who find themselves in such a situation would do.

They get angry, break something, destroy their husband’s property, burn his credentials and business documents or even break his car’s windscreen. I did nothing of such. I was still, managing the ravaging thoughts of my husband with another woman in my head. How did they do it? Where did they do it and how many times? When did they start?

It then occurred to me that I had been with him during his escapades with his classmate. I have been sharing his body with a stranger! I wondered how he managed us both, how he coped with sleeping with his wife and a mistress, most times in a single day.

I felt smeared with the filth of adultery. I felt disgusted with my own body and I ran to the bathroom, took off my clothes quickly, and turned on the shower.

I scrubbed and scrubbed my skin in an attempt to wash away my husband’s filth.

My thoughts ran wild at the moment. What if his classmate has HIV or any STDs? Were they careful enough to use protection? What if he has been infected? What if I have been infected as well?

It was crazy.

I ran out of the bathroom breathing laboriously. I needed to go to the hospital and get myself tested. I wasn’t thinking. My dresser was in shambles in seconds as I couldn’t get the perfect dress to wear.

That was when I started crying.

The hurt of what my husband did hit me raw, snuffing life out of me and leaving that miserable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I sat down on the floor, pulled my knees up and hugged them.

Where did I go wrong in my marriage? What did I do wrong? His confession came back to me again, and I felt so inadequate that my husband could go out to meet someone else when he had me. I felt so small and insignificant.

My words came out in a gargle, cracked by tears and catarrh, “Jesus, what did I do wrong? Please help me. Help my heart.”

I couldn’t hear God.

Maybe I was deafened by my hurt that I couldn’t hear Him saying, “Daughter, I am here. Cast your hurts and cares on me, I’ll bear them.”

God was trying to talk to me, to comfort me and pull me out of my misery but I was busy hatching a perfect revenge plan on the man I married.

READ ALSO: Marrying Wrong and the Truth It Reveals

About Author

Maryann Ijeoma Nwokoye

Maryann Ijeoma Nwokoye is a creative writer, storyteller and development communicator. She is particular about using her skill in communication to see that this world becomes a better place and for men to turn their spears into ploughshares.

Beyond writing and storytelling, she is enthusiastic about human development. She has also managed programs for Non-governmental organizations that are focused on human development through technology and entrepreneurship.

She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Mass Communication and a Master’s degree in Applied Communication (In View) with a core interest in technology and development communication.

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