My anniversary with Michael is August 17. And this year, I decided impulsively to surprise him. He was in Abuja. So I open his computer to check when his last meeting will be, and this email pops up, flagged urgent. And the subject is “Tonight”.
It was about a meeting alright. It was at the Nixon Luxury. Room 1216. At midnight, signed ‘L’.
And over the months that followed, he would address her as Lynn and she would sign back “Linny”.
And I did nothing. I just read the emails over and over, like a novel. He would tell her things from the heart. Things, worries, funny things. Things that you tell someone that you love.
And my marriage was seemingly unchanged. Except that every look, every joke, every time we made love became lies.
And I was paralyzed. I couldn’t confront him. This is my life. It’s my marriage. This is my world and this is my one chance at love.
And then it stopped. He wrote her, saying he felt guilty. So maybe he chose me.
And then two days ago, he goes to Abuja. And I open the computer, and there it was. There was an email from her saying: “I hear you’re going to be in town. Are you free tomorrow night?”
And I went crazy. And I wanted to tear out his eyes. So I wrote him a letter. I told him everything I knew and all the lovey things he wrote to her and all the mean things I wanted to say to him. I’d dreamed of writing that letter for months.
And then, the grand finale… I took my engagement ring and my wedding ring and I put them in the envelope, and I left it on the bed, on the pillow.
And I wanted to get away, as far away as I could possibly get. So I left. I walked out of our home. Left Lagos. And I’m here in Port Harcourt.
And I call him, and he doesn’t have “tomorrow night” to go to her. He’s coming home instead of going to see her.
So I’m sitting here, miles away from home, from my letter, and I suddenly realize that I love Michael. And all these moments are flooding back to me. All the moments we shared. And all the lifetime of moments that lie ahead. And I realize that I’ve thrown it all away.
The letter… There’s no coming back from it. I could’ve talked to him or forgiven him or worked it out.
I didn’t. And now, I can’t come back from that venom and that hatred and that ugliness. All there is now is a letter on the pillow, which he’ll find when he gets home before me.
I am @Walter_Ude on twitter