When Love Faded And A Marriage Lost Its Way

As a teenager, I had a clear vision of the man I wanted to marry. I even kept a little notebook where I jotted down my ideal traits: “He should be tall and handsome, own a car, and have his own house. He should be romantic, shower me with compliments, and care enough to check in on me when I’m away. He should call me sweetheart, bring me cake and roses on my birthday, and tell me I’m beautiful.”

These were the whimsical fantasies inspired by telenovelas and TV shows. I dated guys who fit the tall and handsome mold but lacked financial stability. Kweku had a car, but he struggled to afford gas, and I often found myself covering the costs when we went out. There was one guy who still calls me every year on my birthday to wish me well. Then there was my husband, who, while sweet and loving, was shorter than I had envisioned. I was taller than him.

I had always thought I wouldn’t be attracted to a shorter man, but my husband made up for his height in so many ways. He was incredibly caring during our courtship. On my birthday, he was always the first to call and sing me a happy birthday song. The way he looked at me made me feel cherished, as if I were his entire world. He would hold my hand and say, “Wow, you look beautiful,” whenever I wore a dress that flattered my figure.

It was those little gestures that captivated me. So when he proposed, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. I was overjoyed and immediately called my dad to share the news: “Dad, Asamoah wants to come home to meet you!”

We tied the knot in May, and by August, I was pregnant with Junior. A year and a half later, Yaa was born, followed by Ben and then Lady. In just six years of marriage, we had four wonderful kids. Our home transformed into a lively nursery, often filled with my shouts to keep the kids safe.

But as time passed, the dynamics of our marriage shifted. My husband changed. He stopped looking at me with the same admiration and ceased to tell me how beautiful I was. He even forgot my birthday. I had been looking forward to my 35th birthday, talking about it all year, but when the day arrived, he didn’t even wish me well. What happened to the man who once adored me?

I hadn’t changed much; I was still the same girl. Despite four kids and countless sleepless nights, I maintained my size twelve figure, with a flat tummy and firm hips. The only difference was the stretch marks I had acquired. So why wasn’t he looking at me the same way? What made him forget the efforts he once made to win my heart? I felt anxious—perhaps even insecure.

I began to investigate. Maybe he had found someone else since I had become a “baby-making machine.” I snooped through his phone while he slept, rummaged through his bags, and checked his laptop. I was searching for any sign of infidelity, but I found nothing concrete. He would come home late from work with flimsy excuses. Sometimes, his breath smelled different, but he always had an explanation ready.

At work, I was paired with a colleague for a project. He noticed my distress and occasionally asked if everything was okay at home. I didn’t confide in anyone about my marriage, so I brushed off his inquiries. After the project, our boss suggested a team outing to celebrate. I went without informing my husband, only calling the caretaker to check on the kids.

That night, I had fun and kept glancing at my phone, hoping for a message or call from him. Nothing. When I returned home after midnight, he was sound asleep, snoring. I made noise to wake him, and when he finally opened his eyes, he simply said, “Hurry up and turn off the light. It’s hurting my eyes.”

In that moment, I realized he had given up on our marriage. It hurt when he stopped complimenting me and looking at me with affection. Those were small things I could overlook, but when I walked into the room late at night and all he cared about was the light, it was too much to bear.

The next morning, I confronted him, “I could have been kidnapped, and you wouldn’t have cared to look for me. Your wife and the mother of your children stayed out late, and you had no questions for her? What’s wrong with you?” I walked around him, shouting, hoping to provoke a reaction that would show me there was still something worth fighting for. He simply picked up his shirt and left, saying, “You’re a big woman. I’m not your babysitter.”

When the person you love stops caring, it hurts deeply, but when that person is your husband, it feels like a slow death. It made me question my own sanity: “Maybe it’s not him; maybe I’m the one being foolish.”

Meanwhile, my project partner continued to draw closer. He checked in on me and asked more questions. The way he looked at me was reassuring, making me feel alive again. One day, he confessed his feelings, saying, “It’s strange that I could still love you even though you’re wearing someone else’s ring.” His words stirred something in me. It had been so long since someone spoke to me about love and truly saw me as a person. I replied, “You’re a good guy, but I’m older than you. Find someone your age and fall in love. I’m just old cargo now; even my husband has stopped looking at me.”

But he didn’t back off. I let my guard down around him. I didn’t accept his proposal, but I played along. He kissed me once, and I didn’t resist. It felt awkward but made me feel desired. We talked often, and he sent me flirty videos, teasing about what would happen when we were together. I laughed and told him to keep trying.

I knew I wouldn’t sleep with him, but I was aware that anything could happen. One day, while cooking, I heard my husband shouting my name. He stormed into the kitchen, holding my phone. “Belinda, I’ve caught you! So you’re cheating, huh? Who is this guy you’ve been chatting with?” 

Before I could respond, he slapped me. I fell to the floor, bracing for the worst. He yelled and raged, not allowing me to speak. He pulled me up, demanding to know who he was. I replied, “He’s just interested in me. The only thing I did wrong was give him attention. Nothing more.”

He shouted, “You liar! Look at what he’s been sending you. If you hadn’t done anything, how could he send you that? Is that normal?”

That night, I watched as he brought his mistress home. I had to keep the kids away from seeing her. They sat in the living room, kissing and touching, trying to provoke a reaction from me. I observed them; the girl wasn’t even pretty, and she carried the same scent my husband had when he returned home. After she left, he came to me, saying, “You think you’re the only one who can cheat, huh?” I replied, “You just needed an excuse to show me what you’ve been doing all along.”

From that point on, we lived in separate rooms, like tenants sharing an apartment. He told anyone who would listen that he caught me cheating. I knew our marriage wouldn’t survive, but it hurt deeply that I had given him a reason. Now he walked around claiming he left me because I was unfaithful.

When a man decides to leave, he will do anything—absolutely anything.

—Belinda,
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