The Secret He Chose To Take To The Grave

On my first day at university, I discovered a supermarket nearby and decided to buy some groceries. When I reached the checkout, a woman behind the cashier gestured for me to come over. I approached her, and she studied my face for a moment without speaking, which made me feel uneasy, as if I had done something wrong. She then asked, “Is today your first time here?” I replied affirmatively. She paused again and continued, “You must be a first-year student.” I confirmed that I was. She introduced herself as Shirley and explained, “I called you over because you resemble my husband. I hope he’ll be here next time you visit.” I smiled and returned to the counter.

Shirley told the cashier, “Don’t charge him; I’ll take care of it.” I looked at her gratefully and said, “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” I left the store feeling happy and hoped to see her again on my next visit. That was in 2006. I was just twenty-two, with only GHC100 cedis to my name, and I had no idea how I would manage if I ran out of money. That’s why Shirley’s kindness meant so much to me.

The following day, I stopped by the shop again, and she was there. I went straight to her to express my gratitude. She asked, “For what?” I replied, “For yesterday.” She simply smiled. I thought to myself, “A friend?” She then said, “My husband isn’t here today either, but if you’d like, you can come over to our house so I can introduce you to him. He’d be thrilled to meet you.” I agreed, saying, “I’d love to come this weekend.”

As I was about to leave, she asked if I needed anything, and I told her, “No, I still have most of what I bought yesterday.” She gave me her number and asked me to call her before visiting.

On Saturday, I dressed in my best clothes and headed to meet Shirley and her husband. I called her as I approached her area, and she instructed me to wait at a specific spot until she arrived to pick me up. After about ten minutes, she showed up. As I sat in the car, I offered a silent prayer: “God, let Shirley’s husband like me as much as she does. I’m the son of a poor tailor, and I wouldn’t mind being adopted.”

When I arrived at their home, I realized Shirley wasn’t as old as I had imagined. She wore shorts and a white t-shirt, and I could confidently guess she was in her mid-thirties. She invited me to make myself comfortable, served drinks, and offered food. After a while, a man she introduced as her husband joined us. He appeared older, likely in his late fifties.

I studied him closely and saw no resemblance between us. Yes, he was slim and dark, just like me, but that was where the similarities ended. As soon as he sat down, Shirley cheerfully said, “Dear, look closely at him. Don’t you see the resemblance?” He smiled and asked for my name. I told him, and he inquired about my age and my course of study. We chatted for a while, discussing what was on TV. Soon, it was evening, and I had to leave. The man said, “Nice to meet you, Frimpong. If you please my wife, you please me too, so be a good boy.” Shirley added, “This is your home; you can always come here and feel at home.” I thanked them and left.

From that day on, whatever I needed, Shirley provided. I only had to call her. I visited them countless times, and it was always filled with joy and happiness. One afternoon, while sitting next to Shirley on their sofa, with her husband absent, she said, “You’re in university, so you’re not a boy anymore. You should understand what I’m about to say. I’m interested in you and want you to be my boyfriend. Don’t worry about my husband; everything will be fine if you agree. A woman like me doesn’t need much, just good intimacy, which I’m currently lacking. Don’t feel guilty; that’s just how life is.”

I was taken aback, thinking I must be dreaming or being tested. I stayed silent for a moment, pretending to be okay. I finally said, “I’m only twenty-two, and I don’t know what you see in me. You feel like a mother to me, and I can’t betray that with a clear conscience, considering how you both have treated me.” She asked, “Are you a virgin?” I replied no. She said, “Then what are you afraid of?”

That day, she persuaded me to give in. Right there on the sofa, we crossed a line. The next night, she picked me up from school, and in the darkness, we parked on a secluded road and were intimate in the car. I asked where her husband was, and she said he had traveled abroad. Our physical relationship became routine, and after the third time, I felt no guilt. We often found ourselves in their house, and sometimes, when we were both tipsy, we would park under a tree at night and be together there.

One afternoon, while I was on top of her in their house—on their marital bed—we heard her husband’s car approaching. My heart raced, and I almost jumped off her, but she held my waist and urged, “Don’t stop; I’m close. He can’t come in; the door is locked.” I was frozen with fear, and my arousal faded. She pushed me off and went to answer the door. By the time she and her husband entered, I was dressed and sitting innocently on the sofa, pretending to enjoy the TV show.

The man greeted me, “Gentleman, you’re here. Hope you’re well?” I shyly replied, “Yes, I’m good. Welcome home, sir.” He thanked me and walked to the bedroom. I silently prayed he wouldn’t notice anything amiss. He returned from the room looking unconcerned, and I thought, “All is well.”

I was surprised that Shirley seemed unfazed by the possibility of her husband catching us. When I asked her about it, she said, “Nothing should come between me and my pleasure, not even the approach of my husband.” She joked about it, but I was worried.

We continued our affair until my second semester of sophomore year when one evening, Shirley told me, “Unfortunately, I have to travel abroad with my husband. He’s working there and needs me by his side. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but it should be soon.” That night, I expected a goodbye kiss or something more, but she only hugged me and drove away. Two days later, she left with her husband, and I never saw her again. I was heartbroken for months, returning to the supermarket multiple times, hoping to see her, but I never did. She never called or texted.

Two years later, I graduated and left campus. On graduation night, I received a call from a foreign number. When I answered, the voice said, “Hello, Frimpong. I called to congratulate you on your achievement. I knew you could do it.” I asked, “Who is this?” She replied, “It’s your Shirley.” I was ecstatic, jumping around like a dog reuniting with its owner after a long absence. I realized how much I had missed her. We talked for about fifteen minutes, and I repeatedly asked when she would return to Ghana. She kept saying, “I’ll be back very soon.”

That was in 2010, and I thought ‘soon’ meant that same year. I never heard from her again, and we lost touch completely.

In February of this year, the world was turned upside down by the pandemic. Borders began closing, and many lives were lost. Ghana started feeling the effects in March, and everything changed for us. In April, I received a foreign call. I thought it might be my wife, who was studying abroad. When I answered, it wasn’t her, but the voice sounded familiar. Guess who…Shirley!

After ten years, she decided to reach out again. I had moved on completely, built my own life, got married, and started my own business. I said, “Shirley…it’s been so many years. I hope you’re doing well?”

“Yeah, I’m doing great. How about you?”

“I’m doing well too.”

“I heard you’re a family man now. How’s your wife?”

“Yes, I am. My wife is good. How about your husband?”

She took a deep breath and replied, “He died. He passed away a few months ago, and we brought him back to Ghana for burial.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. That must have been very difficult for you. Please accept my condolences.”

She sighed heavily and said, “I have news for you. I was pregnant with your child when I left Ghana. I gave birth to a daughter, and she’s twelve now. I feel it’s the right time for you to know.”

I exclaimed, “What? You mean you had my daughter all these years and didn’t tell me? You gave her to your husband, and now that he’s gone, you think it’s the right time to inform me?” Sensing my anger, she calmly replied, “I’m telling you now because you deserve to know, especially now that my husband is gone. And for your information, my husband was aware. I chose you to father my child because he couldn’t. He wasn’t foolish; he knew what was happening between us.”

My mind was racing. All along, I thought I was the one in control, but I had been played. Her husband had used me as a cover for his impotence. No wonder she wasn’t worried about being caught that day. I asked her, “Shirley, why are you telling me this now? Why didn’t you take this secret to your grave like your husband? Why now?” She said, “I’m doing you a favor. If I had died with it, it would have been a tragedy for you not to know. Now you know, so thank me.”

Since that conversation, not a day has gone by without me thinking about Shirley and my reckless youth. Now, she has left me with a secret I didn’t have when I married my wife. Knowing this has become a burden on my conscience, and I’m torn about whether to tell my wife or not. Why didn’t Shirley spare me this burden?

For now, no one knows except for me and her, and it will remain that way until we both pass away. People carry many secrets to their graves, and this is one of those secrets a man must bear alone. I don’t even know my daughter’s name, and I don’t want to know. Just knowing she exists is enough trouble. I’ll keep it to myself. No one else needs to know.

—Frimpong  
Kindly SHARE this story. Someone on your timeline needs it.  
Do you have any relationship experiences to share? Email it to editors@etechx.co.ke  

Like our Facebook page to stay updated on new posts.