Sometimes, I look at Alfred and wonder how I came to love such a man. But it was all my fault. When we met, I didn’t care about his background or beliefs. All I knew was that marriage was my escape from the chaos of my polygamous home, where I had no mother and no sense of belonging. I desperately wanted to leave.

Now, I can’t help but feel like I made the biggest mistake of my life by getting married at 22. Maybe it wasn’t just about the age; maybe things turned out this way because I married Alfred and not someone else. What if I had just found a job and figured out my life instead of rushing into marriage? But I had no guidance, no mother figure, to tell me otherwise.

I had dreams as a child. I had a vision. But no one listened to me. My father had too many other responsibilities: other wives and other children. When my mother disappeared when I was four, I was left to be raised by his girlfriends until he finally chose three to settle with.

Growing up was lonely, and failing at school made things worse. After writing WAEC five times and still not making the cut, my father gave up on me. He refused to waste more money on my education. I started working to fend for myself and even began learning tailoring. That was when I met Alfred.

If one thing attracted me to him, it was his certainty. He knew what he wanted. He didn’t waste time expressing his intentions toward me; honestly, I found it cute. He was 10 years older, had a job, and—despite not making much—he appeared to have a bright future. And yes, he was handsome. So, why not?

When I told my father about my plans to marry Alfred, he warned me: “If anything goes wrong, don’t come running back.” I wasn’t scared of his threat. I was ready to do life with Alfred. I finally had someone to lean on and share my burdens with.

We got married five months after his proposal. Looking back, we never really did the things couples do. Our relationship was too serious, and I was too understanding. I accepted his lack of romance and convinced myself he was just a man focused on survival. Even his bossy nature didn’t bother me, I saw it as normal for someone older. I thought things would change after marriage but then, one night made me believe I had made the right choice. One night made me overlook all his red flags.

It happened in his apartment. We had been talking about our dream jobs when his hand brushed against mine. It was unintentional at first, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he traced his fingers up my arm, sending shivers down my spine. My body stiffened, and my breath hitched. I had never been touched like that before.

He leaned in, his lips hovering over mine. When they finally met, it wasn’t a soft, hesitant kiss—it was deep, urgent, hungry. My heart pounded as he pulled me closer, his hands roaming, exploring, claiming. Before I knew it, we were tangled in his sheets, bodies pressed against each other. I surrendered to him completely, and the pleasure that coursed through me was unlike anything I had ever known. It was my first time, and at that moment, I believed I had experienced magic. He made me feel wanted and desired. For the first time, I felt like I belonged to someone.

But everything changed after we got married.

The bossiness I had once overlooked now ruled every aspect of our lives, including the bedroom.

Yes, Alfred sent me to the university, and I was grateful for that, but after graduation, I couldn’t get a job. The weight of providing for our home, including our four children, fell entirely on him. I tried my hand at business, but nothing seemed to work. And just like that, I became a full-time housewife, something I never imagined for myself.

The shift was gradual but undeniable. At first, it was the small things—the way he would sigh heavily whenever I asked for money, the irritation in his voice when I tried to discuss our future. Then, it escalated. He stopped hiding his resentment and openly disrespected me in front of the children. He would hurl insults at me, belittling my efforts and making me feel like a burden. The man I once thought I could lean on had become a cruel and distant stranger.

There were nights I cried myself to sleep, wondering how my life had turned out this way. I had married Alfred, thinking he was my escape from a broken home, but instead, I had walked straight into another kind of prison—a prison of regret, loneliness, and unfulfilled dreams.

And now, I was stuck, watching my life slip away, wondering if I would ever find a way out.

Dorcas Akintoye
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Dorcas Akintoye is a versatile writer with a passion for beauty, fashion, relationships, and culinary delight. With a keen eye for detail and a passion for storytelling, she adds a touch of elegance to every topic she explores. She is a writer at THEWILL DOWNTOWN.