It all unraveled on an ordinary Thursday evening in Ongata Rongai, just on the outskirts of Nairobi. For months, my friend James had stuck to this exact pattern: heading out around 7:30 pm, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, tie half-undone, looking all stressed. “Tight deadlines at work,” he’d mutter. “Big client stuff.” His wife, Wanjiku, bought it hook, line, and sinker. She’d keep his supper warm till late, and whenever family grumbled about him never being around, she’d jump to his defense. She had total faith in him.
But here’s the thing—those “late nights” were nothing but elaborate excuses. Wanjiku wasn’t the jealous type at all. As a teacher in a primary school down in Ngong, her days started early and ended exhaustingly. Marriage had made her patient, you know? Still, little red flags started popping up. James quit picking calls after 9 pm. His phone stayed on silent mode forever. He’d rush straight to the shower when he got home, no matter how chilly it was outside. And if she innocently asked about his day, he’d get all prickly. “Don’t you believe me?” he once fired back. That stung her bad, more than any quiet evening.
Then came the tip-off. Wanjiku’s cousin, who waits tables at a trendy lounge in Karen, mentioned offhand that she’d spotted James there one night. “And he wasn’t solo,” she said softly. Wanjiku brushed it off with a nervous laugh at first. But that sleepless night, everything replayed in her head—all those flimsy alibis. By dawn, trust was gone. She knew she had to face the truth, however much it hurt. Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=35391
