This is My Confession, My Husband Is Not Responsible For My Pregnancy After What Happened- Woman Confessed

This is My Confession, My Husband Is Not Responsible For My Pregnancy After What Happened- Woman Confessed

I dated him the longest—six years. We were in school and in love. We completed school and were still in love. We were looking to get a job so we could marry. Unfortunately for us, it took so long after national service before we got a job. I got a job first. I worked for a year before he got a job. The day he got his appointment letter was the day I missed my period. I told him, “Ben, I’ve missed my period and it’s not a good sign. I hardly miss but it’s the third day today that I’ve missed.” He said, “I’m not sure you’re pregnant. Stop being anxious and it will come.”

A week later, I tested and it was positive. “Hey Ben, it’s positive. You’re going to be a father.” He was quiet on the phone. I said, “Hello, are you there?” He answered, “I’m here.” I asked, “Why are you not saying anything? I said I’m pregnant. I tested just a few hours ago. I don’t know whether to be happy about it or not. Just say something.” He answered, “You’re pregnant and you’re very sure that I’m the father? Wait, I’m doing my calculation. If you’re pregnant today then it means the shuperu might have happened a few weeks ago. What’s today’s date? When was our last time?”

I was like, “Ben, what are you talking about? Are you insinuating that I’ve cheated on you? That I’m trying to give you someone else’s child? What do you take me for? It’s ok if you don’t want to accept responsibility but don’t make me a cheat because you want to run away. It’s not a big deal. Ain’t you all men like that?” We had a fight. We broke up on the phone that day. He even told me to go and look for my child’s father and never say it anywhere that he was responsible. I was hurt for days. I had so many crazy thoughts but not having the child wasn’t one of such thoughts. I was twenty-nine. I was working and living in my own apartment. My child could be well taken care of without a father. “He can go to hell for all I care. I won’t be miserable.”

We didn’t talk for a week or two. One evening he was at my door knocking. He came with my favorite drinks and confectionaries. He said he was sorry. “I don’t know what came over me. You’ve been true to me all these years. It must be the voice of the devil that said I wasn’t responsible for the pregnancy. Forgive me. I’m a mad person but this madness is for only you.” It’s the way he picked his words and demeanor that went with it. I help his shoulders and helped him off his knees. “When you said you were not the one I knew you were joking. Thank God it was a joke. I’m still here for you.”

He had a job and I had a job too so we decided to make the relationship official before the bump shows. He came with his family to do the knocking. A week later we did the traditional wedding. A month later, the wedding followed. Those who had eyes saw that I was pregnant but who cares. I was pregnant and was getting married to the man who got me pregnant. “What’s the shame in that?” I asked myself.

After marriage, he moved in with me. My place was huge enough to contain the two of us and the child coming so we didn’t bother. Our child is seven years old now and we haven’t been able to have a second child. That’s where the problem started—not being able to have another child. I crave another child—a child made on our marital bed. He wants four kids. I don’t mind if we make seven kids. We started trying for the next one as soon as this one was born. It had been throw-and-miss over the years. We did everything right, had the right amount of sex but we still missed. We went to facilities seeking professional opinions. They said we were good. They gave us drugs to increase our chances of conception. I took everything and followed instructions religiously. My husband didn’t. He took his for only two days and stopped.

Our child was five years when I started complaining and pushing him to do the right thing. It got worse. He stopped touching me and pulled away each time I wanted to entangle with him. He said, “You’ll make me do it and if nothing happens at the end of the month you put the blame on me. We have one. Maybe that’s all God wants us to have. We can’t change God’s plan. We are only human.” I answered, “We can’t change God’s plan doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy shuperu too. At least, take your boat to the shore and paddle. You can then leave the rest in the hands of God.” We fought at night because of Shuperu. He won’t do it. I will push him and he will pick up his pillow and go to the hall and sleep.

I got restless. Depressed actually. Let’s put the child issues aside but I wasn’t getting hit by my husband and that also increased the stress.

I attended an old school reunion and met my classmates. One was working in a fertility center so I took the opportunity to tell him my problems. He taught me what to do, what to take, and how to get my husband to do it. Once in a while, I will visit his office and he would give me new guidelines on how to go about things. In the morning he would text me, “Did he do it? Forget about the number of minutes but was he able to hit?” I will respond, “Hmmmm” He will get it. I didn’t have to say more. One day he asked me, “Are you sure his distin rises in the morning? I answered, “It rises with the sun each morning but it doesn’t shine. Just a waste of rising.”

One day I was in his office lamenting about my situation when he touched my cheeks and said, “Hey, stay calm. It shall be well.” It felt good the way he touched me. He got up and locked the office. He came to stand behind me and started massaging my shoulder. He said, “Do you know that I was in love with you when we were in school? I couldn’t say it because you were way out of my league.” The massage was good. He smelled good. We ended up in the bed next to his desk. We went all the way, dressed up later, and pretended nothing has happened.

When I got home he called to say sorry. I answered, “You don’t have to. It wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t allow it. Life is like that. Crazy things happen but we should ensure it never happens again.” That night, when my husband was lying next to me I was feeling guilty. I couldn’t look him in the eyes. He was busily talking to me and I was busy trying to avoid him. He touched me. He asked, “Are you ok?” I answered, “How can I be ok looking at how you treat me here these days? When was the last time you touched me? Do you remember? Are you no longer the man I married?” He jumped on me and we went all the way that night. I should have been happier but I kept having flashes of what happened in my mate’s office that afternoon. At dawn, he woke me up and we did it again. The next evening it continued. Three days in a role, we did it.

I missed my period when the month ended. I tested and I was positive. Currently, I’m two months pregnant and my husband doesn’t know about it. I believe he’s not responsible for it. I believe it’s my schoolmate. But then, anything at all can happen. It might as well be for my husband. I’ve thought about terminating it. I’ve thought of keeping it. After all, my husband wouldn’t know. I’ve thought of telling my mate what has happened just to take his view on the issue but on the other hand, I don’t want to get him involved in any way. I don’t want to give him the slightest knowledge that he could be the father of my child.

I don’t sleep at night knowing the weight of the burden I carry. My husband snores peacefully in bed while I lay awake thinking of my sins—sins that have planted a seed in me and slowly germinating to become a physical fruit I will live with for the rest of my life. Crying won’t solve the problem so I’ve never cried. Last night, I tapped my husband to wake up from his sleep. The idea was to confess to him. When he woke up he asked, “What? What’s wrong with you?” I answered, ”I can’t sleep.” He said, “Try. Don’t think about anything. You’ll fall asleep very soon.” He put his head on his pillow and he was gone. I envied his innocence—the innocence that makes him fall asleep that easily.

I want to confess to him so my mind will be set free. I want to terminate what’s growing in me and lose what I’ve been fighting for for the past seven years. You can’t be in my shoes. You’re too good to commit the sins I committed but let me ask you, if you were in my shoes what would have been your saving grace, confess or terminate?