Literature: She Had Always Suspected Him - - Naija News, Jobs, Universities, Scholarships

Jun 13, 2018

Literature: She Had Always Suspected Him

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Literature: She Had Always Suspected Him

She had always suspected him.

And rabidly stalked his phone.
It was passworded.
And when he slept she tried to break the password.
No luck.
So she bidded her time.
Keeping her emotions in check.
The pain she felt when she watched him chatting on his phone and smiling.
The smile she believed was reserved for her and her only.m
She believed their marriage vows had earned.
her that right.
She felt the coldness in her visceral when she woke up in bed to find him sitting up, phone in hand, chatting and smiling.
The burning in her chest when she tried speaking to him and he responded absentmindedly as he stared at his phone chatting and smiling.
The fire in her eyes as she watched their three children fight to draw their fathers attention from the phone.
Twice he had mistakenly called her Isoken.
And when she had attacked him, he claimed Isoken was a cousin he had spoken to regularly in the last week.

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A cousin she didn't know.
A cousin he didn't think he should introduce her to even when she insisted.
Then one early morning he finally fell asleep whilst he was chatting.
She was watching although pretending to be asleep.
With lightning speed she grabbed a hold of the phone..
Quick fingers she tapped on the screen lest the phone locked and request a password to unlock.
The screen came on.
It was open.
She was finally in.
The Holy Grail.
It was on instagram.
She went straight to WhatsApp.
She knew what she was searching for had to be there for she had sighted the app from afar everytime she watched him glued to the screen.
She scrolled down.
More females.
Finally the name.
She tapped on it.
And began reading.
As she read, she felt her knees go weak.
Her heart thumped faster.
Her vision blur with tears.
Those words of intimacy that were meant for her only.
Those carnal thoughts that were supposed to be provoked by her body only.
She had to steady herself lest she feared she would fall.
She sat down on the couch.
And continued.
Until she saw the pictures.
Several postures.
All revealing.
She stifled a sob.
This was her twenty something odd years ago.
But now that time, work, children and worry had done a number on her, she could not hold the stage with the vixen she starred at on her husbands phone.
And then she read her husbands words.
"I love you more than life itself."
Addressed to the vixen.
This one called Isoken.
And her rage overpowered.
She could hear herself screaming from afar.
An out of body experience.
She could hear the sounds of things breaking.
Her children shouting.
And him pleading.
Then she felt arms around her, holding her, forcing her out of the hot white light that had engulfed her.
Finally she could see.
His face staring into hers.
His arms around her.
She looked away in disgust.
And saw the kids standing by the doorway, in their pajamas, looking on in fear.
His voice cut in.
"You guys go to your room. Your mother and myself need to talk."
The children looked on undecidedly.
Then he barked.
In his deep baritone.
His finely toned, grey hair sprinkled, smooth skinned 6ft plus self still holding onto the near obese stretch marked lined, weary, olive skinned, still beautiful 5ft plus self of the woman he called - wife.
"I said leave!"
They scurried away.
He whispered.
"What is wrong with you?"
She stared at him.
The bitter taste of hate in her mouth.
She spoke.
Her words hissing out.
"Get your filthy off me."
He looked at her for a moment.
The honesty of her hatred stared at him.
He let go.
And stepped away.
Towards his cell phone which lay on the floor.
He picked it up.
And stood there staring at it with such forlorn sadness it appeared as though it was a dead deeply loved pet.
Her words caused him to look over at her.
"How could you do this to us?"
He stood there.
No words.
"That girl is not even up to the age of your youngest sister."
No words.
She approached him.
It wasn't rage.
It was hypertension causing sorrow.
"You are a married man with three kids and a wife."
She spat out the words as though to jolt him back to reality.
No words.
"You want to throw it all away because of some p....y who is only after your money?"
No words.
She stopped in front of him.
"I thought grey hair meant wisdom. But look at you."
He swallowed.
There was no saliva.
His mouth was dry.
The feeling of smallness and foolishness enveloped him as she stared up at him.
Her late thirties self standing her ground.
His late fifties self searching for cover.
"You told me to stay home and raise the kids. I did. You told me a married woman should not worry about weight. I did not. You told me a married woman shouldn't be seen moving around with friends. I stayed home. You asked that I make you the sun in my life. That I revolve around you. I did. I made you everything. And you instead chose to pay me back like this?"
He sighed.
Found his voice.
And spoke.
"I have treated you with respect and honour..."
"You call this honour?"
He continued.
"I have provided for you. Everything you asked for or needed. Money has never been an issue."
"You think that is all I need?"
He continued.
"You have refused to be happy."
"What are you talking about?"
It was in Igbo.
He continued in English.
His Lagos, London and America breeding evident.
Her Oraifite and Enugu breeding breaking the surface.
"I work hard for my money. I deserve my entertainment but you have refused to see me happy because you are not happy."
Again she spoke in Igbo.
"When did a married man carrying girls that he can father become happiness?"
He smiled.
"I could father you when I married you."
She spat out in Igbo.
"Married. That is the word. Married. Not all that prostitution over the phone you are doing!"
He stood there smiling.
The little remorse he had felt fast fading.
She continued in Igbo.
"You asked for my hand in marriage with respect as it should be done, not this one of askimg for naked pictures from girls who do not think it is an abomination to follow married men. Especially one with children. Three for that matter."
"When I asked for your hand in marriage in ESUT was I not married with children?"
She gasped.
He stood there.
She found her voice.
In Igbo.
"That was different."
"She was white and you were moving back to Nigeria. You said you wanted an Igbo girl like you. You said you were not happy and..."
"And am I happy now?"
She stalled.
He continued.
"Now that you have found what you have been looking for, are you satisfied?"
He continued.
"Now that you know that I am having an affair, what are you going to do?"
There was a smile hovering around the corner of his lips as he stared at her.
She could feel every cell in her body tingling.
A riot of conflicting emotions.
He continued.
"Don't tell me all the while you were snooping around you hadn't decided what you will do if your suspicions were confirmed?"
The riot continued.
He also continued.
"At least my ex snooped around and left when she found out about us and got her fair share while at it, but that was in America, and I learnt my lessons. Now we are in Nigeria. You have snooped. You have found out about her, so I ask you, what will you do?"
She stared at him.
A tear slid down her left cheek.
Then she sighed.
Before she responded in English.
"What will you have for breakfast?"
He laughed.
It was tinged with derision.
Then he spoke.
"The usual. But take it easy on the fish stew. Not too spicy like yesterday."
Another tear slid down her right cheek.

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