The Secret Plans Of My Husband That Let Him Wounded

Two years back, if someone had asked me what in my life was the most secure thing, I would have said without any doubt my marriage. Just as a child trusts in the mother's heartbeat, so I trusted in Ansah; unwavering, soothing, and always present. We had built our life together, with all that it entailed, both good and bad. Three kids, a house, and a planned future together. But one day, everything turned around. It all started when Ansah quit his job.

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He got up, wore his work attire only half, and took a seat on the bedside with his eyeballs fixed on the wall as though it had heared him. When I asked him about his reason for not going to work, he said, “There’s been a change in the policy at the company. I will be working from home now.”

His reply came so soon, so casually. But I was deeply in love with my husband, and hence, I didn’t bother to dig deeper. For a couple of weeks, he was sitting behind the laptop; clicking and typing and acting as if he was busy. I sometimes passed the door of his room, and he would minimize the windows so fast that it looked like the computer almost got stuck. Yet, I didn’t interfere. I thought maybe his company had transitioned to a work-from-home policy. It is not uncommon.

But then I began to observe alterations. The noisy, playful and vibrant guy I was married to turned into a silent one. He carried himself as a person who was under the weight of a secret. His smiles decreased and his sighs increased. Living with him for so long had enabled me to understand him perfectly, hence I knew that something was wrong. One night I eventually faced him and would not let him Swerve the subject, and the truth came out. He was not working from home; he had not been working at all. They had laid him off months back.

His arguments for the most part did not stand up, so he talked about reorganization, his boss hating him, and the general unfairness of it all. Yet, I did not doubt it. I just told him, "Don't be concerned. I have made a promise to you. You will land another job soon".

After that moment, I became everything. I not only catered for school expenses but also for other domestic bills. Besides, I made sure he was never humiliated by the fact that he was unemployed – I even took upon myself some chores to defend his dignity, refusing to let him feel that being out of work had taken his manhood away.

Since we had a common account, I gave him the ATM card for the sake of convenience. “This way you won’t have to ask me for little things,” I said to him.

Unemployment did not affect the peaceful atmosphere of our home for over a year. It was a case of everything not just the good but the bad being concealed until another heaviness was felt over Ansah. It expanded, permeating our every living situation. He would be on the sofa alone in the dark, hiding his phone when I got into the room, and giving a start if I touched him. There was definitely something wrong and it was not just about his job.

One day, while he was out “clearing his head” and his phone was charging, I picked it up. What I came across almost gave me a heart attack. Chats. Long, detailed conversations with a guy about travel arrangement fees. Amounts he had already paid and still owed. The guy’s excuses: “The passport will be with you shortly.” “Don’t worry, boss, trust me.” “The embassy will get back to us next week.”

After that, another conversation popped up, this time with a woman whose name was saved as "Erica-HR." A name which was completely alien to me. As I opened the conversation, it took me a moment to recover. The topic was definitely not related to HR; it was Phoebe, his ex-girlfriend more than ten years ago. The one he had claimed to have moved to another country and married. He had assured that he never got in touch with her.

Voice notes were there, and they spanned through long, sad, and loving, to planning ones. Ansah had trusted her with his difficulties concerning me since he got laid off. He had blown his travel to foreign land dreams, and Phoebe was already giving them a go. I was counting the payments he had made, and I knew our joint account was at risk. I looked into it, and it was devoid of funds.

Not less devoid of funds. I was frozen in that position, looking at the figure like I was trying to find out the truth through my eyes. That account was our security, emergency fund, and children’s future plan. Not even a pesewa left. I told myself in a whisper, “But how? How is it that I did not see any alerts? How is it that I did not detect any withdrawals?”

Ansah had always had my phone at his disposal, so he took those withdrawals during the night when I was asleep or when I was busy cooking. He would do it online and simulate the alert removal each time. Not only did my husband waste the money; he also stolen it from me and made it disappear without a trace.

To the first man, he had described as a “connection man,” and the deal broke down. He did not tell me because I would “panic.” He claimed that the money was for a better future for us. The involvement of Erica completely destroyed the last remnants of my hope. He was a big planner for an entire life behind my back, with another woman, using my hard work and sacrifices.

He said, “I didn’t cheat on you. I only spoke with her because she was going to help me with my travels.” I laughed a hurt, broken, wild laugh. Then he said the most absurd thing that ever came out of a man’s mouth to me: “I will return the money when I go.”

Where to? That night, a part of me died. The stronger one. Few days later, I left the marriage with my kids. No screaming, no conflicts, no reasons given. When relatives wanted to know the reason, I just said, “I am not going to be with a man who has used my love to feed his foolishness.”

Ansah implored. He said the devil did it. He vowed he would never do it again. His relatives begged, and mine got involved, but it is akin to being free from nausea after vomiting, thus nothing could ever make me return to the place I had left. I had given him everything when he was at his lowest and had nothing to offer, but he repaid me with disloyalty.

I departed and didn’t turn my head, and this taught me a lesson: At times, the very person whom you are trying to save is actually the one that is gradually killing you.

—Kisiwa

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