I had a beautiful upbringing; we lacked nothing, though we weren’t wealthy. We would always gather together, when time permitted, sharing stories and laughs. I loved and still love my mother. But my father? He was my absolute best friend. He really understood me. We would read books, watch movies, gist, laugh, and even go to the market together as he enjoyed selecting the tastiest fruits, amongst other things.
Uche was so sweet. When we first met, he reminded me of my father with his kind words, thoughtfulness, and his willingness to be present with me through everything. He would talk about how much he values his family and their reputation. He was from a wealthy family, and although his mum was the second of five wives, he was the only son. He was raised to take pride in his role as a man and the only son, based on now outdated traditions. I was naive.
Our courtship was very romantic. Uche took me on trips around the world, including the US, UK, Fiji, Greece, Dubai & Italy – to name a few. I had access to his money as if it were mine. I’d shop endlessly and some more. I lacked nothing materially. He proposed to me in Turks & Caicos, after we had a fancy dinner at the beach. I was blown away. As someone from a humble background, this was more than I had ever imagined. I suppose gifts were my number one love language—or maybe just the blindfold I chose to wear.
We got married in the beautiful country of Jamaica in front of close friends and family, all of whom were flown in by the family. We then spent an additional 2 weeks in Jamaica honeymooning. It was one of the most exciting times of my life. It was during this time that my first child was conceived. I found out unusually. Less than two weeks after returning from Jamaica, I had a haunting dream—I was having an abortion in the most violent way imaginable, something I never thought I’d even consider. Shaken, I woke up and asked one of our domestic staff to pick up a pregnancy test. I took it at home, and it confirmed what I hadn’t dared to suspect: I was pregnant.
We had a baby girl, and the outpouring of love and support from friends was overwhelming. But while others celebrated with smiles, we wore quiet frowns. All through our courtship, Uche often spoke about his desire for sons—heir to his name and the family business. So, when our first child wasn’t the boy he hoped for, disappointment clouded what should’ve been joy. Since money wasn’t an issue, we decided to try again. The second child arrived—a girl.
We fought.
It became a painful cycle—conceive, give birth to a girl, fight, and try again. This pattern repeated itself until we had seven daughters. During our conflicts, he fathered five more children with five different women. By then, I was beyond broken.
With every act of infidelity, I begged him to stop—to turn his heart back to our family. I held on to the hope that the kind man I once knew still lived somewhere within him. But my pleas were met with silence and indifference. His unfaithfulness didn’t end there; it soon gave way to emotional abuse.
As always, after another one of his affairs, he returned like nothing had happened—and asked if we could try for another baby. Tired and emotionally worn down, I said yes. I ignored my doctor’s urgent warning to avoid another pregnancy after four traumatic C-sections and a series of complications. Deep down, I knew the risk. But I was too exhausted to fight—so I gave in, choosing his approval over my well-being.
10 months after my reluctant try, I gave birth.
It was a boy.
But why did I feel so numb? Wasn’t this supposed to be a moment of joy—a reason to celebrate? Wouldn’t this finally bring my man back to me? I say ‘man’ deliberately, because in truth, he had long stopped being a husband in any meaningful sense of the word. At least, that’s how it felt.
Back to my boy though. I still battled to understand my despair. For the sake of clarity, nothing was wrong with him. He was born at full term, healthy, and this C-Section had been the smoothest one yet. But about two days after his birth, a wave of realization crashed over me: I had been fighting for a marriage that had long since died. I had become a baby-making machine instead of a seasoned wife. We hadn’t had a romantic connection in over 5 years. I hadn’t gotten a birthday or anniversary gift from him in forever. Not even a well wish. He stopped buying me flowers, but with my entire focus on trying to conceive a boy, I didn’t fuss. He didn’t care that I had tough recoveries after birthing our kids. He showed no compassion when I bled for months after 1 of the deliveries.
I was fed up, so I made a decision.
“Boom.” The gun went off and Uche died.
Suddenly, I jolted up from bed and realized I was dreaming.
Then my brother visited later that afternoon, and I told him about my husband’s infidelity and emotional abuse. In rage, my brother grabbed a knife, ran to my husband, and stabbed him. As the knife went in, I woke up.
I was dreaming again.
Yesterday, I got out of my room and rushed into my car, then drove to a lawyer. We drafted a divorce agreement.
When I got back home, Uche was changing our son’s diaper. This was the first time he had done this with any of our kids. I handed him the package. He opened it. He looked shocked.
I’m still unsure what the future holds for my life.
Pray for me.
“Husbands, go all out in your love for your wives, exactly as Christ did for the church—a love marked by giving, not getting. Christ’s love makes the church whole. His words evoke her beauty. Everything he does and says is designed to bring the best out of her, dressing her in dazzling white silk, radiant with holiness. And that is how husbands ought to love their wives. They’re really doing themselves a favor—since they’re already “one” in marriage.”
Ephesians 5:25-28 MSG
https://bible.com/bible/97/eph.5.25-28.MSG