I married him as a virgin. I swear, it didn’t hurt because I was guilty of cheating—God knows I never did such a thing. It hurt because of the insult, the mistrust. The way he said it, as if I were some prostitute he picked up on the road and married.

With no reason to suspect me, he chose to doubt whether he was truly the father of our sons.

We quarreled so much that even our neighbors got involved. They all, including the women, agreed that if I wasn’t guilty, I should take the test.

They said even those who pretend to be “holier-than-thou” do worse.

I cried endlessly because my husband should know me better than others.

The only man I have ever known is my husband—and he knows that.

But all my tears couldn’t change his mind.

So we finally did the DNA test. The result cleared me, confirming that our three boys are indeed his.
Authoress Caroluchy
Instead of showing even a little remorse or apologizing, he just looked at me and said, “The innocent fears no accusation. You should get over it. It’s not that deep. Most wives do it without argument.”

Get over what? Most wives?
If they’re not sure their husbands fathered their children, fine, they can do DNA. But why should I question whether my husband fathered mine? Who else would it be?

I swallowed it in silence.

The next day, in the heat of the afternoon, I heard a knock on the gate. Before I could even ask who it was, three policemen walked into the compound.

“We are looking for Mr. Emeka,” they said.

My heart jumped. They said it was a fraud case—someone had reported him. He needed to follow them to the station for questioning.

I looked at my husband. He laughed, as if they were joking with him.

“Me? Fraud? I am a legitimate businessman. I don’t take what isn’t mine. This is a big insult! I’m not going anywhere.”

He turned to me, expecting me to cry, grab the policemen’s legs, and shout, “Leave my husband! He is not a fraudster!” like those women who roll on the ground.

But I just stood there. I remembered what he had told me then: the innocent fears no accusation.

So I told him, “Go prove yourself innocent. After all, isn’t that what you told me? Most husbands will gladly do it without argument.”

My husband’s mouth opened so wide that a fly could have flown in.

He was shocked.

And just like that, the police took him away.

I closed the gate, went inside, cooked a fine plate of noodles and fried eggs, and ate.

I told our boys their father had traveled.

Two days later, he returned from the station, furious.

“You, this woman! You didn’t support me. Other women defend their husbands. You know I am not that kind of man. You didn’t trust me. I’ll send you out of this house!”

I simply replied gently, “So when you accused me, I was supposed to keep quiet and get over it. But when it’s your turn, I must cry for you? Trust isn’t one-way, Emeka. If you cannot give me trust, don’t expect me to carry yours.”

He has complained to every family member imaginable. 🙄

Wait until I tell him I was the one who called the police on him in the first place.