I work in the north while my family is in Accra. It’s been hard for us as a family over the years, but we try to make the best of it. Two years ago, I wanted to resign and stay home until I found a new job, but my wife was against it. Regardless of the distance, the job pays well. That’s the reason I’ve been here for the last three years.......CONTINUE READING THE ARTICLE FROM THE SOURCE>>>>>
Last year, my wife called to tell me her friend had been transferred to the north—not to the same town where I work, but close by. She asked me to help her settle in since I knew the area. Elizabeth, that’s her friend’s name, didn’t have my number, so my wife gave it to her. For some reason, I didn’t call Elizabeth until she called me one day, saying she was coming to the north the next day.
When she arrived, I was at the station waiting for her. I took her to the temporary place her company had provided. From that day on, we talked every day, trying to find ways to get her a permanent place. We moved from one place to another, looking for accommodation. On weekends when I went to Accra, I travelled with her. We would buy tickets together and sit next to each other. A month after her arrival, she found her own place. I drove to Accra with her to help bring her things to her new place. My wife was aware of all this. She called us to talk and even advised me not to give up on helping her friend.
When Elizabeth finally settled, she would cook and invite me over. “You live alone. You have to eat good food once in a while,” she said. I went over, she served me food, we talked, and later I went back to my place, which was about a forty-five-minute drive away. We bonded over many things. She opened up to me about her struggles at work, and I did the same. When the town stressed her out, I gave her an outlet to explore new places outside of where she lived.
One night on a bus to Accra, she fell asleep on my shoulder. It was accidental at first, but then we found ourselves kissing. That wasn’t part of the plan, but it wasn’t entirely accidental either. We spent the rest of the journey talking about the feelings we had both been suppressing.
When we returned to the north, the first time it happened. It became a regular thing until one day she told me, “It looks like I’ve missed my period.” It didn’t bother me much because I knew the end goal, even if she were pregnant. A month later, she said, “When I told you I’d missed my period, you didn’t take me seriously, or you just didn’t care?” Before I could answer, she told me she was pregnant and had known for about a month. I was furious that a grown woman could keep such a thing from me. She said, “I thought you didn’t want to know because you didn’t say anything when I told you.” I replied, “No problem, so what’s next?”
“You tell me. You’re the man,” she answered.
“You already know my answer. She’s your friend. She’s my wife. We’ve already hurt her. We shouldn’t add salt to the injury,” I said.
She stood there silently. “So, when?” I asked. She answered, “I need to think about it.”
It took her two weeks to finally tell me she wasn’t going to terminate the pregnancy. She said, “I’m thirty-seven. Time isn’t on my side. What if I do it and it affects everything?” I didn’t know she was older than me and my wife until she mentioned her age that day. I’m thirty-three, but she looked younger than thirty-seven. I collapsed to my knees and begged her to reconsider. “She’s your friend,” I said. “She’s the reason I even met you. How can you be so comfortable doing this to her?” She told me her decision was final and that we didn’t need to tell my wife because she was ready to keep it a secret.
She’s currently four months pregnant. She seems determined and unbothered by the circumstances. I’ve stopped seeing her. We text occasionally. I ask how she’s doing, and she tells me she’s not travelling to Accra again until after she delivers and the child grows because she doesn’t want to answer anyone’s questions.
Her parents know she’s pregnant. They want to meet the man responsible. Her siblings also know, but the man isn’t coming home to see them. My life has never been the same since this happened. I walk around with a guilty conscience. Whenever my wife tells me she needs to discuss something with me, my spirit takes flight. I’ve become edgy. Even food doesn’t taste the same anymore.
If this had happened with a total stranger and she agreed to keep it a secret, I wouldn’t have been as bothered. But given the relationship, can she really keep this hidden forever? Or will she one day stand on a mountaintop and scream my name as the father of her child?
Even the way she’s handling this issue, as if it’s normal, gets on my nerves. She told me the other day, “You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to. Trust me, I’ll handle this.” I don’t intend to tell my wife or any of my family members. I’ve even started seeking a transfer back to Accra so I don’t have to deal with her anymore. But the question that never leaves my mind is: for how long? Hmmmm.
