I still remember that afternoon clearly. I’d just gotten home from work in the Industrial Area, boots covered in dust, standing outside our place in Pipeline Estate, Embakasi. My neighbour pulled me aside, glancing around like someone might overhear. “We’ve kept quiet too long,” he muttered. “Dennis is seeing your wife while you’re at the job.” At first, I chuckled. It sounded absurd. Dennis was my buddy, always around. And my wife, Ruth? We’d been together eight years. I trusted her completely.
Life was routine. I left early for my technician gig and was back late. Ruth handled her small online clothing shop from home. Dennis, living just down the row in Pipeline, was the helpful type. He’d fixed things around the house and carried heavy bags for her. Nothing seemed off. You get comfortable, you know? Blind to the signs. That night, something felt wrong. Ruth smiled too wide, talked a bit much over dinner. Her phone stayed glued to her hand. Every notification, she’d angle it away. My stomach knotted, but I kept quiet.
Sleep didn’t come. Those words echoed. The next morning, I faked heading to work – kissed her, grabbed my bag, and left. But I circled back, hiding by the nearby kiosk. Around seven, Dennis strolled into our compound casually. No knock. She let him in. Everything shattered right there. I walked off, numb, tears coming. At work later, focus was gone. The eight years had vanished in an instant. I felt betrayed, foolish, and lost. Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=35571
