I was wrong.
When she resumed at the office after her maternity leave, she came back looking happier than I had ever seen her. She would show us pictures of her babies, talk about how difficult it was managing three newborns and sometimes laugh about how her husband had practically become a full-time father at home.
Everyone was happy for her.
And I was happy for her too.
At least, I kept telling myself that.
But whenever I saw her smiling, something inside me became heavy.
She had finally gotten the life she had prayed for.
She had her husband, three babies and a home that was now filled with the sound of children.
And then there was me.
I was the woman who had given her husband a child before she ever got pregnant herself.
I started feeling like a substitute in a story that was never really mine.
Nobody at the office knew the truth.
Whenever she talked about her babies, I would smile and contribute to the conversation. Sometimes she would even ask me questions about caring for a newborn, and I would answer her normally.
But inside, I was becoming bitter.
I didn’t like the person I was slowly becoming.
There were days I would see her walking into the office with that happiness on her face and suddenly feel irritated for no reason. She had done nothing to me. In fact, she was probably one of the most innocent people in the entire situation.
The problem was that I was carrying a secret that was becoming too heavy for me.
One evening, I got home, looked at my son and made a decision.
I needed to leave.
Not because I wanted to punish Wale
I simply needed a fresh start.
I started considering relocating abroad with my son. Canada or the United Kingdom were the two places I was seriously looking at.
I wanted to start over somewhere nobody knew my story.
Somewhere I could raise my son without constantly wondering whether his father would eventually forget him.
But there was one problem.
I couldn’t simply take my son out of the country without involving his father.
No matter how complicated our situation was, Wale was still his father.
So I called him.
“Wale, we need to talk about something important.”
He immediately started promising that he would come and see me.
“I’ll come. Let me just sort out a few things.”
I waited.
He didn’t come.
I called again.
He gave me another excuse.
This went on for weeks.
Eventually, I became frustrated.
I started calling him repeatedly. I sent him messages telling him that I was tired of waiting and that if he continued ignoring me, I would make decisions concerning my life without him.
As usual, he only reacted when my messages became serious.
One evening, he finally showed up.
He sat down in my living room and looked at me.
“What is so important that you have been disturbing me like this?”
I took a deep breath.
“I want to relocate.”
He looked at me.
“Where?”
“I haven’t completely decided yet. I’m considering Canada or the UK.”
He was quiet.
I explained everything to him.
I told him I had become uncomfortable at the office. I told him that seeing his wife every day was becoming emotionally difficult for me. I told him I did not want to spend the rest of my life being reminded of a situation I was beginning to regret.
Most importantly, I told him that I wanted to give our son a different environment.
“I want to leave with him,” I said. “I think it will be better for both of us.”
I expected him to ask questions.
I expected him to be concerned about how much it would cost or where we would live.
Instead, he looked at me and said something I was not prepared for.
“It’s not possible.”
I thought I had heard him wrongly.
“What do you mean?”
He repeated himself.
“You can’t take my son out of the country.”
I stared at him.
“But why?”
“Because I want him close to me.”
I almost laughed because I could not believe what I was hearing.
“Close to you?”
He nodded.
“He’s my son too. I have a right to be part of his life.”
I reminded him that he was hardly present.
I reminded him that there had been days when he would not even call.
I reminded him that after his wife became pregnant, his attention changed completely.
He listened quietly.
Then he said something that made me even more confused.
“Whatever happened between you and me is separate from my relationship with my son.”
I didn’t know what to say.
For the first time, I realised that Wale saw things very differently from me.
As far as he was concerned, he had not abandoned his child because he was still providing financially.
But for me, fatherhood was more than sending money.
My son deserved to know his father.
And I also deserved the opportunity to build a peaceful life without being trapped in a situation I no longer wanted.
I looked at Wale and asked him the question that had been disturbing me for months.
“So what exactly do you want from me?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said, “I want my son close to me. If you want to relocate, you can go. But you cannot take him away from me.”
My heart sank.
I had thought leaving would be the easiest way to escape everything.
Now I was discovering that the one person I needed permission from was the same man whose complicated decision had put me in this situation in the first place.
That night, after Wale left, I sat beside my son’s bed and watched him sleep.
I had never felt so trapped.
I wanted to leave the country.
His father said no.
I wanted a fresh beginning.
But I could not make that beginning without deciding what was best for my child.
And, I began to wonder if the arrangement I had entered so willingly had given Wale a permanent place in my life that neither of us could simply walk away from.
