Love will find you minding your own business and turn your life upside down. I think of the person I was before I met Shiverenje (Shiv) like someone I know from the past. She was chirpy, adventurous and excited about life. That must have been what he saw when he approached me.

I was out with my friends. The dance floor knew my feet because you’d hardly find me seated. I didn’t need company to enjoy any beat. When I finally sat for a drink, he came over. I loved his voice and wit, but beneath all that was a deep sadness in his eyes.

He looked like he needed a break from whatever was weighing him down, and I enjoyed the conversation. I didn’t pry, but he volunteered the information.

“My child is very sick and might not make it,” said Shiv.

He explained the child’s medical condition and the strain it had put on their finances.

“I’m sorry. It must be hard for you and your wife,” I said.

“Ex-wife. We’re no longer together,” he replied.

A friendship grew between us, and with time, I understood that his child and ex-wife lived in a different town. His visits to them were fewer than I expected. I found it strange, given his child’s condition, but we hadn’t known each other well enough for me to bring it up.

Our conversations became more frequent as we got closer. It was evident that he had a strained relationship with the child’s mother. He showed up financially for his child, but I couldn’t understand why he didn’t visit more frequently. “I hadn’t been in his position, so maybe I shouldn’t judge him,” I told myself.

Unfortunately, the child died. This was four months after meeting Shiv. I was there when he got the call, and he looked broken. I showed up for him and was preparing to ask for a few days off to join him at the funeral when he requested me not to attend.

“It’s all the way in Western, and I also don’t want my ex-wife finding out about us now. It would be cruel since she hasn’t moved on and she’s dealing with a child’s death,” said Shiv.

I didn’t understand what distance had anything to do with it, but I empathized with his ex-wife. I made sure I was available on the phone if he needed me during that period. He came back a few days after the funeral. Shiv’s grief process involved burying himself in work and me.

I became the object of his attention. I had never experienced a love like that before. He was thoughtful and present in a way I didn’t know a partner could be. Occasionally, he mentioned his child but hardly mentioned his ex-wife.

Two months later, I found out I was pregnant. Shiv was elated with the news. He saw it as ‘restitution’ of sorts. I only had one condition: we had to get married because my family wouldn’t be happy otherwise.

Shiv reacted strangely to the condition. Initially, I thought the timeline was the problem because he had previously expressed his desire to marry me, but he started dragging his feet.

“You know my divorce hasn’t been formalized, so we’d only be able to do the traditional wedding for now,” said Shiv.

“You said it’s been more than two years since you parted ways,” I responded.

“I mean yes, but si you know how these things take long.”

When I told my sister about the pregnancy and the marriage situation, she sounded alarmed.

“Ebu chunguza if he’s still with the ex-wife. Something is off with his story,” said my sister.

Now that I was going to be his wife and the mother of his child, he introduced me to his family. Given that there was another woman in his life before me, I imagined some of his relatives might still have allegiance to the ex-wife. I expected some resistance, but I was determined to win them over.

We travelled to his hometown one weekend. The hostility towards me was tangible. It didn’t help that I was from a different ethnic group and kept messing up in following their traditions. I was angry that Shiv hadn’t prepared me for that.

The sisters and mother kept speaking in their mother tongue. I knew they were discussing me from the facial expressions. I tried helping out, but it felt like I was doing everything wrong. After what felt like weeks, we were set to leave. I don’t quite remember how the conversation started, but Shiv’s sister said, “I don’t know what kind of woman steals someone’s husband as she is nursing her dying child.”

“But they were already separated,” I said softly.

Shiv walked in and said we needed to leave. I had a lump in my throat, and I needed to be way from his family before I broke down. The way the sister said it, I knew she wasn’t lying, but I still hoped Shiv would deny it.

I asked him about it as soon as we left. At first, he claimed his family loved his wife and were twisting things. When I asked him about the timelines of his separation and the child’s illness, his answer had many inconsistencies, and he finally caved and admitted that he left his wife when he met me.

“But we were having issues even before our child got sick,” he said.

“When were you planning on telling me the truth? Why did you even lie?” I asked him.

“I don’t know. Would you have given me a chance if I hadn’t? It’s all in the past, and we have a future ahead of us,” he said casually.

My mouth tasted like bile, and  I felt sick the rest of the journey. We had to stop a couple of times for me to throw up on the roadside. I couldn’t believe I had trusted him, and now I was carrying his child. It was bad enough that I was his side piece, but the thought of his wife dealing with her dying child as its father was chasing me around nauseated me.

“How could I raise a child with such a person? How could I fall for him?” I cursed.

Breaking up with him was the easiest decision, but I didn’t know what to do about the pregnancy. I grew up in a conservative family, and the thought of an abortion wasn’t even supposed to cross my mind. Getting a child out of wedlock wasn’t something that should have happened to me either, and definitely not with a married man who cheats on his wife with their child on death’s door.

I felt dirty and guilty. I viewed my pregnancy differently. Though I had already told my sister about Shiv and the child, I couldn’t tell her about her suspicions being justified. When she eventually asked about him, I said he had bailed on me. In that version of the story, he was the only villain. Meanwhile, I contemplated terminating my pregnancy.

To help me make a decision, I wrote a pros and cons list and read forums about other people’s experiences. My nights were filled with nightmares and I struggled with prayer. I didn’t think I could be happy with the child knowing the circumstances surrounding its conception, but I didn’t think I could live with myself if I terminated it.

Then one afternoon, as I battled with the decision, I experienced very sharp pains. The universe made the decision for me. I didn’t feel relieved; instead, I felt empty. I called my sister, but I still didn’t tell her the whole truth. For some reason, I unblocked Shiv. When he was able to contact me, he took it as a sign that I had forgiven him.

He came over to my place to try to talk things over. When I broke the news to him, he went down on his knees, crying. The weeping sounds he made remain etched in my memory. I think he was mourning two children. My anger towards him disappeared. I saw a man in pain.

Maybe I liked being angry at him. It was a better feeling than the sadness and emptiness that followed. I had nothing left tying me to him. I could move on, but the scars from the relationship left me with self-doubt and guilt.  

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