It all came to a head one night in January when my brother’s friend showed up at our doorsteps with the words I needed to hear: “Your husband is having an affair with my wife.” This was it; he could no longer deny or wiggle his way out of the evidence laid out in front of us. That night – after he had finished bickering with the other man – he slunk into the room and apologised, offering me full authority to check his phone whenever I wanted in the future. But I was finally done with him; this was the sign I had prayed for.
“You are the most despicable human being I’ve ever seen. You knew they were friends with our family and we even live in the same area. How could you?” I fumed, before leaving the room to sleep downstairs. The next morning, he left the house with a handful of clothes before texting me that he would give me some space and time to cool down.
Over the next three months, our only form of communication was via WhatsApp and even though he grovelled, I told him firmly and civilly that I could no longer accept all he had done. Our relationship had reached the end of the line. There was no yelling or kicking up a fuss on my part – all I wanted was a quick and simple divorce. When he officially uttered those three words, “I divorce you” – finalising the proceedings in front of the judge in court – I felt relieved. It was as if I could finally breathe again.