My Neighbor’s Wife Was Beating Him—Until I Stepped In

There’s a couple who live in the same compound as me. The husband, Richard, rented the place, I think, a year before he got married, and the woman joined him. I wasn’t friends with Richard, but he was someone I said hi to and called “bro.” A quiet and peaceful man.......CONTINUE READING THE ARTICLE FROM THE SOURCE>>>>>

It got to a time when I wasn’t seeing him often, until I learned he had been sick and was staying with his parents. I asked his wife to extend my greetings to him. That was when she told me Richard was getting better and would be back home soon. When he came home, I went to see him. He had suffered a stroke, so his mobility was affected. We talked; he thanked me for the visit, and I left.

Months later, I started hearing screams coming from their room. Most often, I thought he was being medicated and was crying out of pain, so when I heard him cry out loud, I didn’t think it was a problem. One afternoon, I was passing in front of their door when he screamed, “Please, who’s there? Please help me.”

The door was locked, so I looked at him through the window. He was sweating and wet. The room smelled of urine, like he had urinated on himself. He said, “Please, can you get me something to eat? I’m starving.”

I quickly dashed out and brought him a meal and water. I watched through the window as he consumed the food as if he hadn’t eaten in forever. His wife had been beating him. She tied him to the chair, even though he couldn’t walk properly. He was struggling to even speak audibly.

When his wife came, I went to her. I told her the state I found her husband in. This woman looked at me and said, “He’s a sick man who can’t walk, so how do you expect to see him?”

She clearly told me to mind my business, but I didn’t. Anytime I heard him screaming, I would walk by and shout, “Richard, are you okay?”

He wouldn’t say anything, but whatever was making him scream would stop for a while. I needed somebody to talk to. I asked him if I should tell the police; he told me, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” I knew he was lying. His wife would come home very late at night—sometimes a white salon car would drop her off.

All I wanted was to help him, so one afternoon, after giving him food through the window, he told me his brother would visit. His wife would be around, so he wouldn’t be able to say much. He implored me to find his brother and tell him everything. I did exactly that. His brother burst into tears. He said, “The day she told me Richard can’t use a phone was the day I suspected something was wrong.”

He thanked me and left. A few days later, the whole family came back to take him away. I watched with tears in my eyes. When he saw me, he bowed his head down—maybe hiding his tears.

Since he left, his wife comes with the guy in the white salon car almost every night. I wake up at dawn sometimes and see the white car parked outside, a little far from our house. I see what goes on, but that’s not my business. I’m only waiting for Richard to get better so I can tell him, “It’s been a long day without you, my friend. I’ll have to tell you all about it now that you’re here.”

Brothers, please marry a kind woman. Yes, a kind woman can be fair, beautiful, with a lot of buttocks—but please, when the buttocks catch your attention, try to dig deeper until you find kindness in her before you marry her. Because when you’re down, it’s the hands of kindness that will lift you up.