Sophie is my name. I believed that I was in love. I believed that I had at last met someone who cared about my background, noticed me, listened to me, and spoiled me. He informed me they were about to get a divorce, even though I knew he was married. He would mumble, “You are the only one who gives me life, even though we don’t share a bed.” He purchased me a car, paid my rent in Kilimani, and even sent money to my mother in Kisumu.
I reminded myself, “Love is messy,” even if I wasn’t proud to be the other woman. At least I’m content. That was, until the dreams started. It began quietly. I would see myself sprinting barefoot in a pitch-black jungle. I was always being pursued by something. The dreams turned into nightmares after that. Blood would be visible on my bed. Over me, a blind woman was muttering in a language I couldn’t comprehend. To read more, click here.
