I never thought the woman who washed our clothes would unravel my marriage. For years, Mama Fua was a fixture in our home, like family. I shared meals with her, gave clothes for her kids, and brushed off neighbours’ gossip about her chatter. Little did I know, she was quietly tearing my world apart. It started subtly, with my husband staying out late, getting snappy, and being glued to his phone. He’d light up whenever she was around, laughing a bit too much.
My instincts screamed trouble, but when I questioned him, he chuckled, “She’s just the cleaner! You’re overthinking.” I almost believed him, blaming my doubts. Then, one afternoon, feeling unwell, I came home early. There, in my kitchen, I saw her cooking in my apron, my husband’s arms wrapped around her in a way that screamed betrayal. Time froze. The sizzle of onions faded as my heart shattered. They sprang apart when they saw me, but the truth was undeniable. After a heated fight, he left without a word. Later, I learnt he planned to start a laundry business for her, the ultimate stab at the home we’d built together. Continue Reading.