I had a daughter before I met him. He also had a boy from his previous relationship who was then living with his mother. We both had something to bond over right from the start. He told me how his son’s mother came to dump their son, who was barely a year old, on him and the struggles he went through as a single father. I also told him how my boyfriend listened to his family and ghosted me the day I delivered.
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I was living with my daughter, so each time he came around, he engaged with her. He would bring something for her and hang around with her until I needed him to myself. He took me home to meet his mom, and that day I saw the boy. He looked like a copy of his dad and was also bubbly. He told him I was going to be his mother and that we were going to live together very soon.
On our way back from his mom’s house, he asked me about my future plans concerning marriage. I told him I was ready. He also said he was ready. It took us a year and a few weeks of dating before we finally got married. The mistake I made was that we didn’t discuss my daughter. We only discussed his son. In my mind, everything we discussed about his son also applied to my daughter.
When we got married and I was about to move in with him, he told me I should send my daughter to my mom so we could live together for a while before bringing her in. He made a good point when he said we needed to find our footing as a couple before bringing kids into the marriage. My mom didn’t have the resources to cater for my daughter, and since I thought it was just a temporary arrangement, I sent my daughter to my younger sister.
Three months into the marriage, he went to visit his mother and returned with his son. He came with a long story that his mom had been sick and the boy needed a man to raise him, so he had brought him in for a while until his mom got better, after which he would send the boy back. I thought it was a temporary arrangement until he started making permanent plans for the child.
The school he chose, the arrangements he made in the house for the boy, and the things he bought for him all looked like the boy had come to stay. He was ten years old then, and looking at the rate he was growing, he indeed needed his father and also a mother to teach him balance. I became that mother who would do everything for him.
I didn’t want him to lack anything, not even emotionally. In my mind, my daughter would join us along the way, and I would need the same care from my husband. Two years after marriage, he was still dismissive about my daughter joining the family. I didn’t push too hard because my sister was doing a great job. I visited them one day, and with tears in my daughter’s eyes, she asked when I would come for her.
It hit me very hard that day. I thought she couldn’t feel it, but she made me realize that day that I was affecting her emotionally. I told my husband about it and said, “She has to come home as soon as possible before she grows resentful of me.”
My husband asked me, “Where is she going to sleep when she comes here? There’s only one spare room, and Peter has it.”
“They’re kids. My daughter is only eight. They can share a room. We only have to teach them how to coexist,” I responded.
My husband jokingly said, “I don’t want my son to ‘eat’ your daughter. That can’t work.”
I even slapped his chest playfully in response to the joke. But he was serious. He said until we got a three-bedroom house, there was no space for my daughter. I challenged him. I asked where our own child would stay when one finally came along. His answer was, “When we get to the bridge, we’ll know how to cross it.”
One day, the fight with my husband reached its crescendo. The kids were on third-term break, and I wanted my daughter to come and spend the vacation with us. My husband asked the same question about where she was going to sleep. I answered, “Even if she has to sleep in the kitchen, I’ll sleep there with her.”
He said I was forcing my daughter on him and that if I didn’t take care, he would end up hating my daughter because of how I was handling the situation. I told him he was not being fair. “You forced your son on me. Am I hating him because of that?” He asked who was providing for the house that I was challenging him in. I said, “No problem. If it’s about provision, I will take care of that when she comes.” He retorted, “Then rent a house for her. That will be perfect.”
I didn’t say anything to him again concerning my daughter. I only followed his advice. I saved some money and rented a new place for myself. The only thing he saw was me packing my things. He asked where I was going, and I told him, “I did what you asked me to do. I rented a place for my daughter, and since she can’t live there all alone, I’m moving in with her.”
His jaw dropped. I expected the worst, but to my surprise, he only said, “Fine. If that’s what you want.”
A day later, my mom called asking what was happening. That same day, his mom also called, pleading with me not to take his advice to the extreme. “He was just talking when he said that. You two should just resolve your issues amicably.”
I didn’t listen to them until he called, asking where I was. I told him I was with my daughter in our new place. He said, “I want to see you.”
I responded, “You can say what you want to say without seeing me.”
He went on and on about me misunderstanding his intentions and the fact that he was raising money to get a three-bedroom house for us. He concluded, “If you think it’s safe for them to live together, that’s okay. You can bring her home.”
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I shook my head in disbelief. I told him that ship had sailed long ago, and this ship wasn’t coming back home. “You love living with your son, and that’s perfect. I love living with my daughter too. Let’s keep it that way.”
He’s hoping I will change my mind. I’m hoping I’ll give him a divorce very soon so he can go ahead with his son. As I speak, his son has gone back to his mom, and he’s living alone. What’s the sense in that?
—Jane
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