THE GOOD WIFE

THE GOOD WIFE

My hands shook but the rage I’d expected to feel never came. The pain stayed hidden. The tears evaded me. The hurt was a mile away. My heart remained still.

I idly wondered if I should have worn glasses and scarf in a pathetic attempt to disguise me. I also wondered what truth I would uncover. The thought scared me.

We’d been laughing over a little gossip just an hour or two ago when he’d asked me to bring his phone to him. I unplugged the charging cord, and his screen lit up and the words were staring at me.

SEE YOU SOON. Love you.

And that led me here, following behind my husband’s car on the streets of Lagos like a crazy wife, which I guess I was at the moment. I’d requested an uber and was promptly on the driver’s case to follow the black jeep but still stay far away. And now, the stalking had progressed to me entering a clubhouse that boasted a considerable amount of very good-looking clientele. Everyone’s attention was focused on the stage.

I raised my eyebrows as I turned to see what had everybody’s attention. The young man dancing on the rostrum was a sight to behold. I was not sure if it was appropriate, but the adjective ‘beautiful’ fit him perfectly. His face was as aesthetically sculpted as that of an angel, and his body swayed like a viper jolly at mesmerizing its prey as he belted out one of Chris Brown’s earliest hits in a voice that was glorious.

I looked around for my husband and found him. He was standing by the bar with a glass in his hand and a smile on his face. I felt a sternness steal across my face as I began making my way toward him to demand an explanation for everything, when the young man on the stage ended his karaoke performance. As the crowd cheered loudly, a woman walked up to replace him in the spotlight.

The young man started down from the rostrum and I saw his face light up as he waved at someone. Feeling an inexplicable sinking of my heart, I followed his gesture to the person it was meant for.

My husband was beaming himself and waving back.

I stood rooted to the ground and watched. I watched the beautiful young man navigate his way to where my husband stood. I watched him give a small squeal of delight as he got to my husband, and I heard my husband’s booming laugh as they hugged each other. I watched, feeling the deepening slice of pain in my heart, as my husband leaned into that hug, a deep-tissue hug, like it was something he’d been looking forward to doing all day. I watched them pull back and observed the ease of their laughter.

Comprehension cascaded down on me.

I couldn’t believe I was even thinking this, but it was obvious to me that my husband was in love with another man.

I continued to stare with clouded eyes. The tears were finally here, but they were not for my sake. They were for him. My husband. For the first time, I recognized Jide. It all clicked in place. I’d always wondered many things about my husband.

And now, I could see him clearly.

Jide held his beautiful companion in his arms. They laughed with each other. They touched each other. It was surreal.

My husband was gay.

I watched them for a while before rushing out of the club. My mother had instilled in me at an early age a discipline over my feelings. Taught me to never let my emotions out in public.

“Never let them see you cry,” she’d chided while brushing my long hair.

And now my emotions were rushing over me like a tsunami. I couldn’t help it, even if I wanted to.

I rushed over to the uber. My mind was in pieces.

“Take me back home,” I instructed.

The driver regarded me with an expression that mixed concern with disgruntlement. I took in a deep breath to remind myself that this was not his fault.

“Thank you,” I added.

He smiled.

I leaned back in my seat as he ignited his engine.

When I got home, the house felt as though I was looking at it for the first time. It suddenly seemed too large for just two people, the chandeliers winking at me from an unreasonable distance. The house was also empty because the housekeepers had left for the holidays. I’d been looking forward to it, hoping it would be a perfect time to reconnect with my husband. The house was always packed with too many people. It wasn’t what I’d imagined my home away from home would be. It reminded me too much of the house I’d grown up in.

But the absence of people didn’t explain the emptiness. No. The lack of love in our home defined it. We’d always been friends, but Jide had never loved me, had he?

Jide is a prominent politician and I’m an actress who’d given up my full-time career to play house. I loved him. It seemed liked an easy decision; a way to show my devotion to him. To be a good wife.

But that would never be enough. It was as though I’d developed a third eye or maybe I was using my brain for the first time in a long time.

The large spaces reminded me of the walls I’d always felt blockading me from Jide.

The bright lights flickered before my eyes and I grimaced before shutting them off.

I walked slowly up the stairs, my knees becoming weaker by every second.

“Hold on, Amanda. Hold on,” I reprimanded myself as the tears leaked down my cheeks. I felt the salty liquid as it slid across my lips. I opened the door of the master bedroom door, and I wasn’t able to shut it behind me before the pain found me. It clutched me in its infernal embrace and I yielded.

My heart ached as though a hundred horses were trampling on my chest. I struggled to unbutton my blouse. I was halfway through when the shakes began and my body trembled as violently as my sobs. I wailed like an aggrieved widow. And in some way, I’d lost my husband. Or at least an image of him. My sham of a marriage was unraveling. I sunk to my knees.

A million thoughts burned through my mind. Many of them were questions. And the most important question was how. How could I stop crying? I didn’t know how to turn the waterworks off. I’d never been a weak woman. I wasn’t one of those women that went to pieces whenever a tough situation dropped down on them. Why was I being like this now?

The tears however didn’t seem to have the resolve of my mind. My chest heaved even though I held my hands over my breast to calm it.

I laid down on the floor, hugging myself to find warmth in my embrace and continued to cry, my sobs an extension of the pain that was slashing through my heart. I don’t know how much time passed, but I finally stirred awake, baffled over the fact that I’d fallen asleep. I didn’t even remember closing my eyes.

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Heavens! Jide must be back.

I heaved myself to my feet and shuffled quickly to the bathroom, closing the door just as I heard my husband walk into the room.

“Darling,” he called out.

I forced myself to take a breath, mentally mining my consciousness the acting talent that made me famous.

“I’ll be right out honey,” I managed to call back endearingly. I turned my back to the door, resting against the polished wood, and closed my eyes. When I opened them, my reflection was looking back at me from the gilt-framed mirror mounted against the marble wall of the bathroom. The woman in the mirror looked tired and beaten. A shell of who I used to be.

I walked over to the mirror, tucked my disheveled hair behind my ears, turned on the tap and splashed some water on my tear-stained face. After wiping it clean, I flashed a smile at myself, took in another bracing breath and walked out of the bathroom.

Jide was in bed, his back to me, the covers over him. There were no sleeping sounds coming from him, but then, he wasn’t a snorer.

I considered calling my mother. She would know what to do about the pain. She would know how to help me pick my life up from the mud it had fallen into.

But I could hear voice. “I told you not to marry him. But mba! No. You could have done so much better, Amanda. All those eligible bachelors who are more fitting to your standard and you chose him… Well, you have to suck it up. You cannot disgrace this family by leaving your matrimonial home. Divorce is not something we do in this family.”

But my mother was unpredictable. She may just the insult of Jide’s deceit so injurious that she would go nuclear. Jide was from a prominent family too, but not one as affluent as mine. My mother was a formidable woman, and with my father, they would destroy Jide. Then they would find me another man and regain control of my life. The control they lost when I married Jide. My mother had never liked Jide, but I’d stayed defiant.

“Jide is the love of my life, Mummy, Daddy. If you don’t accept him, we’ll elope. And you’ll never see me again.”

After that, it became her never-ending mission to make us the perfect power couple. And I let her.

Jide’s profile flew up the political ranks by a single whisper from my family. I’d assumed this pressure was the reason for Jide’s constant withdrawal from me. I’d assumed everything was my fault. I even thought I wasn’t appealing enough to meet his sexual desires.

I had no idea until today that my husband’s distance had nothing to do with me.

No! I thought, setting down the phone that I’d picked up to call my mother. This is my fight. I’ll choose my path.

And as I watched the love of my life sleep, something sealed within me. An icy chill enveloped me. I’d finally found a way to turn the waterworks off. Or at least I hoped so.

***

A full month has passed since my discovery. Since I happened upon Jude’s truth.

My husband walks into the kitchen as I cut up some fruits, and he kisses me on the cheek.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, I am, Babajide,” I say with a chuckle. “Stop worrying so much and don’t be late for your meeting.”

“I won’t.” He smiles at me, that winsome dazzle of his that is all white teeth and flashing eyes. “So, when are we expecting the housekeepers back?”

“Not for another month,” I reply.

He nods and kisses me again. “See you later, love.”

“See you.”

I watch him leave the house, and walk over to the window to watch his car pull out through the gate. Then I send a text.

He’s gone. You can come over now.

The ringing of the bell comes several moments later and I open the door to him.

“Come on in. Don’t be shy, Daniel.” I beam at him.

I send another sms to a different number.

I need your help. Please come home.

I then turn my phone off.

“Thank you, Amanda.” The young man with the angelic face gives me a small smile.

“You’re very good looking.” I move ahead of him to the living room. “But I’m sure you get that a lot.”

“Honestly, I could say the same for you. Photos on the internet and the social media don’t do your beauty justice.” He is rambling as he takes the seat that I’ve gestured him to.

He is obviously nervous.

“I guess Jide has a type then,” I say, smiling to take the sting out of my words. When he doesn’t respond, I continue, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Daniel. And for keeping this from my husband.”

“I’m so s–” Daniel’s onrush of apology is cut off when the doorbell rings. He darts a nervous look in the direction of the front door.

“Relax, Daniel,” I say reassuringly as I get to my feet. “Just stay put.”

When I open the door, Jide is looking very anxious on the threshold. He moves in even as he is speaking. “I got your text… Babe, are you okay?”

“I’m great,” I answer. “Come.”

I lead him into the living room, and then I hear him let out a gasp. Daniel, his eyes rounding with shock, is stumbling to his feet.

“Daniel!” my husband blurts out. “What are you doing here?”

“I should have talked to you alone, Jide,” I begin, drawing my husband’s attention to me. “But I did my research, and I found out that this isn’t just a fling. Daniel seems to be very important to you.”

“Mandy…” Jide chokes out. Devastation is creeping across his features. “Mandy, please, you have to believe me… I never meant to –”

I raise my hand to quiet him. A calmness is stealing over my being. My voice, when I resume speaking, is just as solid and as stoic as I felt. “I’ve taken some time to think about it and I forgive you, Jide. But I’m leaving. I know I should be mad at you, but I’m really not. If anything, I finally see you. I get it – not completely. But I get it. It’s a hard world. It’s a hard country. You may think you have no choice, no other option but to live a lie. But there’s always a choice. It’s not just your life here. It’s mine. It’s the countless women who feel flawed, who feel inadequate, who feel like we are not enough despite what we do or how much we stretch ourselves to suit you. It’s the women who think we’ve found the one but who end up with husbands who barely look at us or touch us the way we desire to be looked at and touched.”

I stop when I feel a tremble touch my voice. A second later, I have it under control and I continue: “It is an injustice to us. It is an injustice to me. But it is also an injustice to you. The world may never understand you and maybe they don’t have to. The ones who matter will love you for who you are. Don’t be unfulfilled because the world is confused. Don’t deny this big part of who you are just so people can be comfortable with who you are not.”

I stop again and draw closer to my husband. He is staring at me now with eyes turned glassy with tears. My strong, alpha husband, breaking down into tears. The only other time I’ve seen him cry was at our wedding. I’d thought then that his tears were of happiness.

Now, however, I wonder if perhaps he’d been grieving a life he knew he’d have to push further inside the closet.

“Jide…” I say softly as I take his hands in mine. He is trembling, his tears sliding rapidly down his cheeks. “You can find a way to make it work. I’ll even help. I’ll always be here for you. But I deserve better. I want to love and be loved completely. To find with someone what you have with him.” At this, I move my head in Daniel’s direction.

He is crying now, and through his tears, he says, “I’m so sorry, Mandy. I don’t deserve you.”

“I know.” I smile at him. “I’m too good a wife for you. But perhaps, that is because you never needed one.” And with that, I reach up and kiss the cheek of the man who will soon be my ex-husband.

Written by Abrams

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Previous HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 30)
Next Author Roosh Valizadeh Suggests That Men Who Like Women's Butts Are Likely To Become Gay

About author

You might also like

Fiction 55 Comments

He Eats My Cakes And Has Hers

My name is Lami. I am 24 years old and a fresh graduate. Here’s why I’ll NEVER again date a bisexual guy. His name is Funsho. We met at a

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Fiction 34 Comments

With A Little Frosting On The Candy (Part 2)

Previously on With A Little Frosting On The Candy… * On Saturday evening, a few minutes past 5pm, I walked into Belmund Cakes to collect my cake and pay up

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Fiction 44 Comments

PAMPERS

When your baby brother was born in the hospital, that place that smelled strangely of liquid soap and disinfectant, your father bought a big pack of pampers for his shit

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

12 Comments

  1. Mitch
    January 31, 09:43 Reply

    This, right here, holds the very essence of what being MGM does. Not to the man, who we always claim is a victim of society, but to the woman. The innocent party who may or may not have wittingly or unwittingly played a part in society’s mistreatment of the gay man.

    Two wrongs don’t make a right.
    When we hurt others simply because we have been hurt, we’re no better than pond scum.

  2. Lorde
    January 31, 13:42 Reply

    BIIITTTCCHHHHH????!!!!!!!!

  3. Mandy
    January 31, 14:13 Reply

    Kai! Abrams, you are pure evil o! You deliberately led me on, making me think the babe was about to unleash a delicious kind of evil on her husband and his lover.
    Only for me to get to the end and she FORGAVE THEM?!!!
    There has to be another Good Wife story. One were the wife was so good, she was bad.

  4. Quentin
    January 31, 18:35 Reply

    “What a tangled web we weave when we set out to deceive” – Wiiliam Shakespeare.
    And it is with so many of us, who, by society assisted cowardice, either continue to deceive or are about to deceive our unsuspecting partners of the opposite sex. What must we do to gain acceptance ( not approval, let me clear about that) to live our truth, to have the courage of our convictions, to plain just have courage? It’s hard, fraught with possible rejection, hate and danger- physical, professional, social and emotional. We must ask ourselves, is the pain we cause ( to ourselves if the lie is successful, to others if/when we are found out) worth it?

    • Ethan
      January 31, 20:59 Reply

      See, my problem with a lot of people on here is as much as you hate to admit it, some of y’all are judgemental af. Do u think some of these men don’t feel bad for the “deceit” on the women? THEY DO! But if you had any iota of common sense, you will realize that society plays a major role in a person’s choices. Yes, you may call them cowards, but wtf have you done? I don’t see you advocating.. I don’t see you trying to make an actual change! Rather, you further feed into these self absorbed stereotype of the gay man that puts himself on a pedastal because he had the “courage” to “come out”. You are not any better and come down from your despicable high horse. It’s sad some innocent women have to get dragged in this but it doesn’t help when you tear others down because you have an OPINION. You have NO RIGHT to call anyone a coward, they probably have more courage in their little finger than you’d ever have in your entire life. You don’t know these people’s circumstances! so please please please for the same people that ask everytime not to be judged. STOP JUDGING! Let’s stop this fucking narrative once and for all.

      • Keredim
        January 31, 21:45 Reply

        You had me at “judgemental af”😘😘😘

        👍🏿👍🏿👍🏿

      • Delle
        February 01, 00:19 Reply

        Pffts! Why so defensive? Why so brash? No matter, MGMhood isn’t something to applaud.

        Y’all can keep giving yourself reasons to live in the line doesn’t take the truth away.

        • Keredim
          February 01, 00:53 Reply

          No one is applauding it and saying it’s a good thing. All we are saying is temper your idealism with a dash of realism.

          Maybe if we lived in a society where we didn’t have to hide to whatever degree we do now, your pontificating may be justified.

          We all have untold stories of pain and sadness that make us live and love differently than you do. Try and understand rather than be quick to cast aspersion at the MGM situation.

          Until then bili kam’ bili

      • Kobe
        February 01, 07:49 Reply

        Dear Ethan,
        Thanks for this.
        Many of us sit on high horses and pontificate on ideals to be applied in our society that is very far from ideal..
        If it’s as easy as it’s made out to be, ngwa put your real name and image on this blog and run your usual comments …no anonymity!
        Come out of the closet and tell your family why you can’t marry a woman… Until then, respect other people’s and life decisions…. You don’t know what demons they may have fought.

      • FJ
        February 02, 09:12 Reply

        So relieved to learn not everyone on this blog is a retard

  5. Delle
    February 01, 00:17 Reply

    Oh I totally love this story and all that it represents.

    Well done, Abrams. Well done.

  6. Uzor
    February 06, 01:11 Reply

    Eish! Some people are just being too defensive. The important point here is, people get hurt just because you want to save your own skin. Putting a woman through this is almost equivalent to reaching success by climbing on people’s backs. we can’t allow rape victims to go out and rape people just because they suffered the trauma of being raped at some point in their lives, I mean two wrongs can’t make a right.
    When we stop making excuses for hurting people for our own benefits then we can thinking of easier ways to ease societal pressure without strutting outta the closet.
    No justification is ever enough for hurting an innocent person.

Leave a Reply