How One Suspicion Ended A Love Meant Forever

I was convinced that I would marry Samson. We were together for nearly six years, from our university days through our National Service and into our first jobs in different towns. We supported each other through thick and thin. He called me B, and I called him Sam. We had our share of arguments, sometimes threatening to end it all. I would accuse him of being a devil bent on ruining my life, and he would retort, “Who doesn’t know that you and your kind fly on a broom at night?”

We would declare it over and promise never to reconcile, but the next day, he would call, saying, “What you said yesterday really hurt. Apologize if you want me back.” With the stubbornness of a child, I would reply, “To hell with you. I don’t need you back.” He would then say, “If that’s how witches apologize, then I accept it.” We would laugh and get back together, vowing to love each other forever.

Throughout our six-year relationship, we broke up countless times, but the longest separation lasted just a day and a half. We couldn’t live without each other, nor could we let go.

Then one day, everything changed. We parted ways for good. We thought we were stronger than any fight, but a mere suspicion of infidelity shattered us.

I had met Stanley, who is now my husband, and we began to get to know each other. It was nothing serious, and I could swear I wasn’t interested in him. It was just friendship. Perhaps he had feelings for me, but I was committed to Sam, and I couldn’t throw away six years for someone I had just met. However, Stanley had a plan I was unaware of.

He would call me first thing in the morning and be the last person to call at night. While Samson lived in Cape Coast, Stanley and I were both in Koforidua, giving him the advantage of seeing me more often. When Samson learned about my friendship with Stanley, he became uneasy and started to complain. We fought over it and even broke up because of it.

One night, Samson called while I was on another line. When I called back, he was furious. “Who were you talking to at this hour?” “An old friend from university found my number on Facebook and called me,” I lied. He replied, “Since when did you start lying to me?” I noticed Stanley’s number was also on call waiting. “Do you think I’m dumb?”

That was when I realized he had seen Stanley’s number on my phone. He viewed Stanley as competition, which bruised his pride. My lie about the call with Stanley became the final straw. He said, “If you can lie about him, then there’s something going on.”

That marked the end of my relationship with Sam.

I thought we could overcome this and return to each other. After all, we had faced bigger challenges before and always found our way back, stronger. But it turned out that it’s the small cracks that sink the largest ships. We sank, never to resurface.

A year and a half later, I said yes to Stanley.

Stan was persistent, always asking for a chance. He did everything right and said all the right things. It took me a while to agree to be with him because I held onto the hope that Samson would call and we would reconcile. That call never came. I moved on and accepted Stanley because I loved him. I had come to see him for who he truly was, and he was perfect for me.

We dated for nearly two years before getting married.

Yet, a voice kept telling me that I owed Samson an apology. He suspected I was dating Stanley, which wasn’t true at the time, but I ended up marrying Stanley, and that didn’t sit right with me. For the sake of what we once had and the memories we shared, I called Samson about a week before my wedding to apologize. He replied, “Life happens, and situations change. It’s been four years since we last spoke. You should move on because I have. You don’t need my permission to marry anyone. Go on and be happy.”

I knew him well enough to recognize when he was putting on a brave face. He spoke like a man of worth, but his voice betrayed him. He was still hurt by everything. I tried to make him smile, but he wouldn’t budge. He told me to move on and hung up.

My wedding day was beautiful, and to top it off, I returned from our honeymoon pregnant. It felt like a cascade of joy. Stanley threw a small celebration for me, killing a chicken and ensuring I ate it alone. It was fun yet surreal.

I had a son. He looked nothing like the adorable image from the scan I had at four months. The baby in the scan was cute; this one had a big head like his father and eyes so large he looked like a watchman. During his naming ceremony, a friend who knew Samson told me, “Samson has been very sick for a while now. If you saw him, you wouldn’t recognize him. That illness has taken away who he was. He’s in very bad shape.”

My heart sank!

I kept thinking about him and even wished I could visit. However, leaving my house to see him would require a lie I might not be able to defend when the truth came out, so I opted for a call instead. I called him once, but he didn’t answer. He never returned my call. I tried again, but he still didn’t pick up or respond. On the third day, I called multiple times and sent a message, but he ignored them all.

I gave up on him.

I had my life to live, and he had his. If he didn’t want to talk to me, I needed to respect that and stop worrying him. From that day on, I resolved never to call or think of him again. I had a husband to love and a baby to care for, and that was enough to fill my days.

When my son was seven months old, I received a call from that friend. I was at the hospital weighing my child, so I couldn’t answer. I called her back on my way home, and she told me, “Samson didn’t make it. He died.”

Suddenly, my knees buckled. I found a spot to sit down and asked, “Are you serious? He just died like that?” She replied, “He didn’t die just like that. He had been sick for over a year. If you saw him, you would be relieved that he finally found peace.”

I broke down, crying like a teenager who had just lost her parents. My baby was sleeping on my back, but soon he started crying too. I had a reason to cry, but what was his? Was he hungry?

I thought I had moved on, but the news of his death shook me to my core. The sad part was that I didn’t know how to mourn him. I had never lost someone close to me, and I didn’t know how to grieve in a way that honored our memories. I needed someone to talk to, someone to say, “It’s alright.” I needed a way to express my feelings, but all I had was my husband.

I was sad for days, and he kept asking what was wrong, but all I could say was, “Nothing. I’m fine.” “You’re fine, but you’ve been moody for days. Is it something I’ve done?” I told him, “Don’t take it personally. It’s nothing, and it’s not about you.”

When I was alone, I could cry. I would call that friend and mourn with her. I fell ill for a few days. I even felt responsible for his death; “If only I had stayed with him, maybe things would have been different.” I was sinking into depression, so I finally opened up to my husband: “Sorry for telling you this late, but Samson died.” He asked, “Samson? Who is Samson?” I replied, “Samson. My friend Samson?”

He was indifferent. I didn’t expect much from him, but he could have at least pretended to be shocked or surprised, but that didn’t happen. He said, “That’s shocking, but is that why you’ve been quiet all these days? You should be grateful you ended up with me. You would have been a widow by now.”

A lump of shock lodged in my throat, and I swallowed it. It felt like swallowing my words. That was the only reason I didn’t respond to his callous remark. I was his wife, going through pain. He could have overlooked the reason for my sorrow, however trivial, and sought to comfort me. Men and their egos. He still felt superior over a man who was no longer alive.

He wouldn’t let me attend the funeral. “Whatever existed between you and that guy ended the day you said yes to me. You have no reason to be there.”

But to truly move on and find happiness in my marriage, I had to forgive myself and forgive my husband. I don’t believe I would have been a widow if I had married Samson. One’s destiny can alter another’s. Life is like that. I can only be grateful for being alive, thankful for knowing Samson, and most importantly, wish him eternal peace in his rest.

—Beatrice,
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