My husband had a child with his ex. I knew the ex even before our relationship turned serious. She was a very respectful lady. She met me one day and told me she was happy that her ex was dating me because she could see I would be a better mother to her child when it came to it. I liked her too. You hear of baby mamas and you want to run away, but this one was different.
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When our relationship got serious and he made me understand he was going to marry me, we sat and thought about how we were going to deal with the child he had with his ex. He loved the boy so much I didn’t want to come between them. I told him, “I understand how you love your boy, and his mother has also given me a lot of respect, so I don’t have any issue with the way you want to raise and connect with your son when we are married.”
When we got married, this baby mama called to congratulate me. She was happy for me and said she was glad I could do what she couldn’t do. You see, it sounded some way that a woman who had been with my husband before was still in the picture, but when someone shows you a good heart, you don’t think badly of them.
I allowed her to bring her child home and even stay a while before she left. I cooked and served her when she was around. She would leave the boy for the weekend and come on Sunday for him. My husband tried to draw the lines whenever she was there, and I could see it. That also increased my respect for him and for the fact that he made things clear.
My husband’s ex got very sick. I’m talking about a sickness that rendered her immobile and unable to go to work for months. During those trying periods, my husband said he wanted the boy to move in permanently with us so the mother could focus on her health.
The boy moved in. I found a good school for him and made him feel very comfortable. I wasn’t replacing his mother, but I was doing the best a woman could do for a child she loves, though not her own. We visited his mom together on some occasions. My husband didn’t come along, but I went with the boy so he could see his mom and his mom could also see and hug him and be assured he was doing very well.
After she regained her health, she called me to thank me. She even came home to show her gratitude and said she wanted to take the boy back. My husband came in to say, “Why should you? Just focus on your health. He’s in great hands. Aside from that, school is still in session. Allow him to stay here.”
She wasn’t that pleased, and I could see it in her reluctance, but she understood my husband’s point of view and left the boy to stay with us. Since the boy was with us, he now had to go and visit his mom on weekends. He couldn’t go alone, so my husband had to take him there. This went on for months, even a year. On Sundays, either she would bring the boy and say hello to me, or my husband would go for him.
I traveled and came back to see the house very busy. Things were not where they should be, and the kitchen looked like it had been used consistently while I was away. I have a particular way of arranging my space, but this space looked new and deviated from my way of doing things.
I asked the boy, “Who came here when I was away?” Kids don’t lie. He said, “Mommy came to cook for us, and she was here.” “Mommy? You mean your mother?” He nodded. I asked, “Did she sleep here?” He was quiet and looked at me as if he didn’t understand my question. “I mean, did she sleep in your bed or in Dad’s bed?” He still didn’t answer.
So when my husband came back from work, I asked who had come to the house, and he said the boy’s mom came around. “Around how? The house didn’t look like she just came around.” He answered, “Oh, she cooked sometimes for the boy and kept him company.” I was like, “Kept the boy company in my house? Why didn’t she take the boy away if she wanted to keep him company that much?”
He looked shocked about my probing. He asked, “Are you thinking of something I’m not aware of?” Then I caught myself midway in jealousy and insecurity and told myself I was blowing it out of proportion.
I was sweeping the boy’s room when I saw a hair bonnet that didn’t belong to me. My heart started beating faster. “That woman slept here. I’m sure of that.” I rushed to show it to my husband. It was his calm that annoyed me the most. “You found it in the boy’s room? Then it’s obvious she slept in his bed and might have forgotten it there.”
You see, I’m a woman. I’m a woman, ooo. I can see shadows of things before they even come to exist. His answer didn’t sit well with me. It felt like while I was away, they had a family reunion. I’m the one who didn’t have a child. She was the one who did, so they sat in the hall together, probably showered together, and lived like a family while I was away.
I picked up the phone and called her. She was happy, talking about how she had missed my presence, when I cut her off. “Please, stop all that! I gave you an inch, but it looks like you’re taking a whole mile. What were you doing in my house? And why did you do that only when I was away? You left your bonnet here. This place is not your house for you to be too comfortable cooking, serving, and leaving your bonnets around. I’m back, and going forward, please stay in your lane. I don’t want to see you around my house. I’m sorry, but the truth had to be told.”
She responded, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She spoke to my husband about it, but my husband didn’t say anything to me. One day, the boy went out and never came back home again. When I asked about him, he responded, “His mother came for him.” I asked, “And you didn’t tell me about it?” He responded, “Did you tell me about it when you called to attack her?”
I went mute, but the silence that has befallen this house is too loud. It’s making me feel guilty about everything. It’s like I dropped a bomb in the wrong place and killed innocent people. My husband isn’t fighting me or quarreling with me, but something about his behavior feels off. He’s not giving too much or too little. He’s just there.
I asked why the boy isn’t coming over on weekends since that had been the arrangement, and he responded, “Do you want him here when you wanted his mother not to come anywhere close to us?”
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What Nobody Tells You About Divorce
Now I’m guilty, and it feels like I destroyed a beautiful thing. Sometimes I want to call the woman and apologize. Sometimes I want my husband to raise the topic so we can talk about it, but he doesn’t, and the few times I’ve tried, he brushes it off. My guilty conscience is killing me, and I want to ask: did I handle it wrongly? Was I too quick to judge? Was I wrong about the way I felt about the hair bonnet?
—Joy
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