The Four-Lettered Lie





Candlelight dinner? ✔

Kids at grandma’s? ✔

Perfume? ✔

Sexy lingerie? ✔

It's Valentine’s Day. I’m so excited. I can’t wait for my man to be back home. I start rearranging myself and my home, with a side smile; rehearsing the Kamasutra. My face is blushed and a  light giggle runs past my lips as I remember some parts.

I’m rechecking dinner again. Its past 7:30pm and we planned this for 7:00pm. He’s always late, such a hard worker my man is. I adjust my thong, my dress and reapply my red lipstick, just as I’m going to the bedroom for the umpteenth time; I hear the hoots of my husband’s car at the gate.

I run like a small child towards the window and peep. It's him. Nervous chills run down my spine and I take a deep breath and walk towards the door.

All what’s going through my mind is, “Keep the pose, smile, sexy eyes, chest upward outward, butt out.”

The door slides open, and I’m caught unawares with my belly out like I’m 60 minutes pregnant, and my mouth agape like a fish’s gut opening. I quickly go into formation with the biggest smile I can muster. He looks at me with surprise and something akin to bewilderment.

“Welcome baby. How was work?” I ask as I take his work bag. He leans in to kiss me and I sniff something.

I look at him sharply, he stares back at me, with his eyes like that of a child’s. I smile like nothing is wrong and head towards our bedroom. 

I’m there in record time and place the bag on the sofa. He gets in too and starts taking his clothes off, I aid him.

“Babe, go take a warm shower. I’ve got plans for us, you can’t imagine,” I whisper while unfastening belt buckles. His sharp intake of breath shows that the message was passed across.

“Okay, okay. Who are you and what did you do to my wife? But whatever it is, I like it,” he says smirking like the filthy pig he is.

I leave the room to the dinning table fuming at the mouth. How dare he? Today? I’m pacing and biting my fingers. 

He’s done with his bath and emerges from the bathroom smelling like an angel.

I look at him, asking him spot on, “Today? Of all days? You just had to go to her?”

“Who? What are you saying woman?” he says, while straightening his arms in a bid to make the lies dropping out of his lips more convincing.

“And to think I was ready to patch things up!”

“Babe, what are you saying?”

“This is the last time you’re doing this to me. I’m leaving you, and this time, I mean it, I swear,” I say, while swiping angrily at the hot tears running down my cheeks.

“Calm down babe, be calm, let’s sort this out.”

“There’s nothing more to say, no excuses to be made. You smell of her. You can’t deny this, you know it; that faint mix of vanilla and musk. I hate that our kids smell it too, I hate that you keep going to her, why her? Why not me? You married me, choose me. Then why not me?”

“Babe—”

I lash out bitterly with the crooked teary voice, “Don’t call me that, and don’t touch me. I’m not doing this anymore. I’m taking my kids too.”

“Please babe, help me be better,” he cries out, pulling that Romany Malco remorse face shit with me.

“I’m done helping you. You need to be better for your kids and, probably for me. I don’t care anymore. Go to her.”

He stretches out to pull me towards him, but my reflexes are faster. I dodge each attempt to break my resolve, and dash into the bathroom to get my toiletries.

He keeps knocking on the door that separates us, begging and crying but I’m really done this time. I take three deep breaths and re-fix my face in the mirror.

Opening the door slightly, I peek into the room that holds a lot of my tears and sorrows, my joys, my life; it doesn’t seem like home anymore to me, it was a duty room because my husband stopped loving me, and only came to me as a chore, a chore that obviously bored him into the hands of another woman.

Just as I’m about to drag my bags out of the closet, he barges back in, startling me enough to jump (I’m impressed as I can’t even skip to save my life), and looks frenziedly at the two bags lying on the bed. His hair is disheveled and he reeks of alcohol.

“Babe, are you leaving me?”

He comes closer and closer, I am not urged to answer until I see some shiny metal glistening from his pocket. He catches my eye and my realization is that things are going to get messy.


All I can think about are my kids, my kids. He comes closer to me and takes up the metal from his pocket, it’s a knife. He smiles and breathes into my face, using his left hand free of the knife, he slowly tucks my hair behind my ears.

“I’ve always loved your eyes you know.” The words hit me hard as his breath also does. He’s really drunk although his words don’t slur.

He continues.

“I fell in love with them, and your freedom. We could have been happy if only you could shut the hell up and be a fucking wife!

He turns the blade while my eyes follow them to my jaw. He presses against my cheek and I feel the hurt but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction, until he digs in deeper and I scream out.

“Shh, shhh, baabeeyyy! You look so pretty in all that red. You’re so pretty.”

He has me at a disadvantage. He looks at the bed and laughs out. Pointing towards it with the knife in his right hand, he side flicks his head in its direction. Smiling.

“Honeyyyy, mo-ooveee. Don’t make me angry baby,” he presses on.

I walk haphazardly to the bed and lay on it expecting to be tied up. He just walks onto me, spreading my legs as wide as Texas and looks at me scornfully. I know the balls will definitely play into his rotten court if I’m not smart enough and so I plan.

He takes of his shirt while holding my eyes in a staring match then followed his belt, his trousers. Smart-man-not-so-smart dropped the knife about three inches from my hand, and I grab it.

He bends towards me almost as fast as I point the knife towards him. I stand out from my spread eagle position, and back him off with the knife. I search for my car keys and find it.

“Sit! I have always loved you and cherished you against my better judgement. I cook, clean, have your kids, and you never even say thank you to me. I’ve been by your sidelines for years, and I never complained. You were with various women and I felt I was with them too. I was humiliated countless times because of you.” 

I do not move the knife for one second till I pass my message across. His still position on the bed, sitting with his head in his hands assure me that I’m getting through to him. I just need one final hit.

“I stayed with you. Built with you, and loved you. I have always given you love, but you give me STDs and pain. I’M DONE WITH YOU! I’M TAKING MY KIDS FROM YOU, THEY DESERVE BETTER AND I WILL GIVE THEM BETTER!

He looks up at me. There are tears in his eyes, and to my greatest surprise he gets it.

“All right.”

I do not believe my eyes and ears.

“All right?”

“On one condition—I’ll be better, and when I am, you’re coming back to me, with my kids. You and my kids.”

I nod and drop the knife on the bedside table. He just watches me as I pack my things, occasionally reminding me of things I forgot to pack. It was strangely nice.
I was done in an half hour and he helped with my luggage’s downstairs. Turning around to give one final hug, he leaned into my ears and mutters something I can’t pick.

“ … never… me… can’t have… kids… you’re … mine!”

The words don’t register as fast as I feel the slice of the sharp knife into my guts, and he holds me closer to him.

“You can never leave me, and you can’t take my kids.” 

And then I can’t feel anything.

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