Could I have been in love with a ghost?
I was brought up in an orphanage, a place that should have been a haven but felt more like a waiting room for a life that never began. No one came to adopt me. Year after year, I watched other children leave with smiling couples, their laughter echoing as they waved goodbye. Unfortunately, I stayed behind, waiting for a family that never arrived.
When I turned 18, the orphanage sent me out into the world. I had no money, no family, and no one to lean on. I took on menial jobs to survive, washing clothes, selling fruits by the roadside, and cleaning houses. Life was a struggle, and the weight of my loneliness was unbearable. It felt like the world had forgotten me. At a point I swöre to do anything possible to survive.
Then, one fateful evening, a young man approached me. He introduced himself as David. He was a kind and soft-spoken man with the warmest smile I had ever seen. He noticed the tears in my eyes when he asked if I was okay. I couldn’t hold my tears and I allowed it to flow freely. I narrated my ordeal.
He listened intently, and when I was done, he offered me a hand not just figuratively but literally. He helped me find a better job, gave me a place to stay, and even encouraged me to dream again. For the first time in my life, I felt seen, valued, and loved. You know the saying of being picked up from the “gutters” that’s definitely me.
I didn’t hesitate when David proposed marriage a year later. I didn’t want to lose the one person who had ever cared for me, and I felt I was securing my future by marrying him. Our wedding was a dream come true.
Looking at my beautiful white gown, I felt fulfilled for the first time and even though it was a small ceremony, it was magical. The way he looked at me as I walked down the aisle felt like I was the most important person in the world. His vows were tender. We danced as a couple, and at that point, I forgot all the pain I have been through.
The few years of the marriage, our life was bliss. David was attentive and loving.
When I got pregnant, he was overjoyed, often placing his hand on my growing belly and talking to our baby about the beautiful life we would have together. But as the pregnancy progressed, a sudden feeling enveloped me. Aside from David, I had no other family. He rarely spoke of his family, and though he always brushed off my questions, I felt the need to know. I needed family love and care. Even though I have heard stories of wîcked in laws, I needed to experience it. I needed to know what having a family feels like.
“David,” I said one evening after long contemplation, “I want to meet your people. No matter how far they are, I want to see where you come from, I can’t continue like this.”
At first, he resisted, claiming his family wasn’t important, but I kept insisting and refusing to give up. He obviously doesn’t understand. I needed a family just like him. Eventually, he relented. “Alright,” he said one morning, “I’ll take you to my village.”
The journey was long and exhausting, but I was thrilled although with mixed feeling. I don’t know if his family will love and accept me since we got married without informing them of visiting them. Also, the fact that I had no root also made me feel uneasy. So many thoughts going on in my head but I tried to remain calm so as not to discourage my man at least not this time.
We finally arrived at a small, quiet village surrounded by lush greenery, David parked the car and said he needed to ease himself. “Go ahead,” he told me. “I’ll catch up.”
I stepped into the compound and felt a frill of goose bumps all over my skin, my heart pounding fast that I could almost hear it. An elderly woman sat on a wooden bench under a tree, peeling cassava. I didn’t need a fortune teller to inform me that she is his mother. They had this striking resemblance. I felt a little warm seeing her. I approached her with a smile and introduced myself.
“Good afternoon, ma. My name is Abigail and I’m David’s wife. I’m so happy to finally meet you mom.
Her face froze, her hands looking a bit shaky as if she had seen a ghóst. “David?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Yes,” I replied, smiling nervously. “Your son, David.”
The woman stared at me as though I had grown two heads. “David?” she repeated, her voice breaking.
“Yes, ma,” I said, pulling out my phone to show her a picture of him. The moment she saw it, she screamed and collapsed to the ground.
I rushed to her, confused and terrified. “Mom! Are you okay? Please wake up!
People around came over, helping her to a chair. When she finally regained consciousness, she looked at me with tear-filled eyes and said, “My dear, this is not possible. My son, David, has been late for five years.”
I felt the world tilt beneath me. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “That can’t be my own David. I just came here with him. He’s outside. Probably saying hi to some neighbors. Why is he taking so long nah… I tried calling him with my phone, but he wasn’t picking up.
The woman wept loudly now. “David díed in a car accident five years ago. He was buríed right here in this village. Only one God knows who you got married to.”
I stumbled backward, my mind spinning. “No, no, no,” I muttered, running outside. But David was nowhere to be found. At that point, it felt my like my world paused.
People tried to console me, but their words were a blur. I returned to the compound, clutching my stomach, feeling the life inside me move. Was my child a part of him? Or was I living a nightmare I would never wake from?