I was a stranger in my own marriage for years. In addition to having a wonderful career, money in his bank account, and a lovely family, my husband had everything somebody could ask for. But he wasted it all on young college girls rather than enjoying what he had at home. Late-night phone calls were the first. Although I wasn’t a moron, he would go outside “to talk business.” Soon, his garments began to smell like perfume that wasn’t mine. I discovered many used condom wrappers stashed behind the seat of his car one evening when I was cleaning it.
My heart fell. The fact was now staring me in the face; it was no longer simply rumours. He made no effort to conceal it. In Roysambu, he brazenly paid a girl’s rent, brought her to Mombasa, and lavished her with cash. The part that hurts? He continued to support us at home by buying food, paying for school, and even giving me pocket money. However, the hurt caused by the betrayal was too deep for money to heal. To read more, click here.
