Episode 1
It started like any other ordinary morning. Our small apartment was filled with the smell of coffee, sunlight was streaming through the blinds, and my wife Aisha was moaning softly as she got dressed for work. She looked stunning as ever – neat bun, light perfume, her ID card hanging around her neck like a badge of pride. I loved watching her get ready; it reminded me of how lucky I was. We had been married for three years, and while things weren’t perfect, I thought we were happy. But that morning, one small, almost insignificant thing caught my attention. As she reached for her handbag, a small foil pack slipped from her purse and fell to the floor. I bent down to pick it up, smiling — until I realized what it was. A condom. Not one, but two. I was freezing.
“Aisha,” I said calmly, “why did you get these?”
He turned away, his face unreadable for a moment before he forced a laugh. “Oh, those? I got them from the pharmacy near my office yesterday. The clinic gives them away for free. I thought I’d keep them – you know, just in case.”
“In case of what?” I asked, still holding the package.
He smiled faintly, came over, kissed my cheek, and said, “In case we need them.” He was gone before I could speak.
That was the first time I’d seen him buy condoms. But it wouldn’t be the last.
Over the next few weeks, I began to notice a pattern. Every Monday and Thursday morning, he would stop by the pharmacy down the street before work. At first, I tried to ignore it. I told myself he was stocking up, maybe for us. But then I realized something – we hadn’t made love in almost a month. Every night, she would come home exhausted, saying she had overtime or “female cramps.” She would shower, eat a little, and go straight to bed facing the wall.
One night, my friend Idris suddenly walked by. As we were talking in the living room, he stopped and looked at the table. “Bro, do you use these?” he asked, pointing to a small box half hidden behind a vase. It was another pack of condoms – new, unopened.
I swallowed hard and said, “Aisha bought these.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure she bought them for you?”
That question haunted me all night.
The next morning, I decided to follow him. I waited until he left, then I got on my bike and quietly followed him. True to routine, he stopped at the pharmacy, came out with a small brown bag, and kept walking – but instead of turning right into his office, he crossed the street and entered a hotel.
My chest was tight. I couldn’t breathe. I stood there watching from a distance, my heart beating so loudly I thought people could hear it. He disappeared into the lobby, and for the next hour, I stood there like a ghost, hoping he would come out on his own. He didn’t.
When he came out, he laughed, and his hand brushed the arm of a man. I recognized him immediately – his boss, Mr. Nathan. I had met him once at his company dinner, a man in his early 40s with a wedding ring and a bright smile that hid an overwhelming charm.
I felt my knees go weak. The world around me disappeared. I didn’t face him that day. I followed him home, pretending I hadn’t seen him. He greeted me with a tired smile, kissed me, and said, “Long day at work, babe.” I forced myself to nod, staring at him as he pulled out his bag – and there, hidden among his files, was the same brown pharmacy bag.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My chest felt heavy, my mind spinning with questions. Why? Why him? What had he given her that I couldn’t take?
The next morning, he woke up in front of me like always. As he got dressed, I watched silently. “Aisha,” I finally said, my voice shaking, “do you love me?”
He froze. Then he smiled. “Of course I do. Why would you ask that?”
I looked him in the eye and whispered, “Because I think you’ve forgotten what love looks like.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then walked out without another word.
That was the day I decided to find out the whole truth – not just who he was seeing, but why. Because deep down, something told me that this wasn’t just about cheating. There was something darker hidden behind his smile, something he might not be able to explain.
And what I discovered next would change everything I thought I knew about my husband – and about love itself.
Episode 2
That night, I couldn’t shake the image of Aisha and her boss walking out of that hotel, laughing like two lovers in a secret world I was never invited into. It was like my pillow smelled of his perfume, and I hated it. Every part of me wanted to scream, to demand answers, but something inside whispered, waiting. I needed evidence — not assumptions. I needed to know why.
The next day, I left work early and parked outside his office, far enough away to go unnoticed. Hours passed, and I saw him — exiting the building, holding the same brown pharmacy bag. He looked around carefully before heading back to the same hotel. My stomach turned. I followed him from a distance, the rain pouring down, thunder roaring in the distance.
When he was inside, I waited five minutes before entering. The receptionist looked up. “Good evening, sir. Room or guest?” she asked. My throat went dry. “I am… Find my wife,” I said calmly. The receptionist lost hope. “Name?” “Aisha… Aisha Bello.”
She hesitated before lowering her voice. “Sir, I shouldn’t say that, but he comes here regularly. Room 209.” My heart sank. I handed him some money and took the elevator, every second pounding on my chest like a hammer. When I reached the door, I froze – voices. His. And a man’s. I moved closer, trembling.
“Aisha, you can’t do this anymore,” the man said, his tone sharp. “You’re jeopardizing your marriage.”
“I know,” she sobbed. “I need money, please. Please. More. My mother’s treatment is getting worse, and if I stop now, she’ll die. You promised to help.”
Nathan sighed. “You don’t have to sell yourself for this. Can I pay her bills without
…
“No,” he cut her off. “You can’t help me if I don’t give you what you want. Don’t lie to me.”
I felt my knees weaken. My wife – my Aisha – was not a fraud for love. She had traded herself to save her sick mother. I turned away from the door, tears welling in my eyes. My anger twisted into something uglier – guilt. Shame. I remembered how many times I had told her we couldn’t afford the ever-increasing hospital bills, how I had ignored her tears when she begged me to borrow from my savings.
Now I understood. She had found another way – a way that had destroyed her from the inside.
I walked down the hallway, breathless. I drove aimlessly through the rain until midnight, the wipers struggling to keep up with my tears. When I got home, she was already there, pretending to be asleep. I sat down next to her, studying her face – that woman who had once danced without our kitchen table, who prayed with me when life was hard.
Around two in the morning, she spoke up and said, “Why did you wake up?”
I swallowed hard. “Aisha… If I told you I knew everything, what would you say?”
She froze. Then, without turning around, she whispered, “I’m going to say… I’m sorry. And that I hate myself more than you could ever do.”
Tears silently rolled down her cheeks. I grabbed her shoulder but she ran away. “Don’t,” she whispered. “You deserve better.”
The room was silent except for her quiet sobs. I wanted to tell her that I understood her, that I forgave her, but those words stuck in my throat. How can you forgive someone who broke your heart to save someone else’s life?
The next morning, I went to his mother’s hospital. The nurse at the front desk looked surprised. “Are you Aisha’s husband?” she asked. I nodded. “He’s here almost every night. He pays for his mother’s dialysis. If he hadn’t, she would have died months ago.”
I felt a heavy fall inside me. My husband was not a monster – he was a soldier.
That night, I didn’t face him. I cooked dinner, lit a candle, and waited. When he came inside, he was startled by the sight, he looked at me. “What’s all this?”
I smiled faintly. “Just dinner. For my wife.”
He looked suspicious but sat down. We ate in silence until he whispered, “Why are you being so nice to me?”
I looked into his eyes. “I finally understand why you always buy condoms on the way to work.”
She paused, tears welling up again. “You know I’m not hurting you.”
“I know,” I said softly. “But we’ve both gotten lost in trying to survive.”
She reached across the table, shaking. “Do you still love me?”
I smiled sadly. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.
The morning after our dinner, I thought maybe – just maybe – Aisha and I could find our way back to each other. We’re not perfect, but love still lives on somewhere in the ruins. She smiled at me for the first time in weeks before leaving for work, and for a moment, I felt almost at peace. But peace has a way of breaking down when you start to believe in it.
By noon, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. My friend Idris. “Brother, just go to your husband’s office. Now!” His voice trembled. “What happened?” I asked, reaching for my key. “Her boss’s wife—she’s here. She found out everything.”
My heart sank. I hurried over to the group and saw a small crowd gathered near the entrance. People were recording with their phones. In the middle of the chaos was Aisha, on her knees, crying, as an angry woman screamed and repeatedly slapped her. “Cheap snake! Do you think you can steal my wife and destroy my family?!” she shouted. “You take care of that, Pinoy!”
I ran over and pulled the woman back. “That’s enough! Don’t touch her!” I shouted. Security guards immediately came in, and separated them. The cameras kept flashing. Someone whispered, “That’s his wife,” and suddenly every eye turned to me.
Aisha came up to me, sobbing. “Please, let’s go.” Her voice broke off. “This is not what he was thinking.”
But Mrs. Nathan wasn’t finished. She said, “Oh, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Do you think I haven’t seen the hotel receipts? Do you think I don’t have pictures? Your husband has been sleeping with my wife for months – and I have proof!” She grabbed her cell phone and threw it at me. On the screen were pictures – of Aisha and Nathan entering the hotel, holding hands, sitting at a table that was too close, too familiar.
People gasped. My body went cold. I wanted to believe there was more to it, that the pictures didn’t tell the whole story, but the world didn’t care about the truth. It only cared about the show.
When we got home, Aisha couldn’t help but shiver. “Because, I swear to you it’s worth it :). I only went there for my mother’s bills, I swear—”
I know,” I whispered, cutting her off. “I know why you did that.”
She looked at me, stunned. “You… Do you still believe me?”
“I don’t believe what they said,” I said calmly. “But I don’t know if I believe us anymore.”
She was completely broken. “I hate myself, Aquino. Every time I look at you, I feel like I’m dying. But I can’t let Mama die either.” She fell to the floor, sobbing so hard it hurt to hear. “Please, don’t leave me. I’ll do anything. Please.”
I sat down next to her, my chest heavy. “I lost you the day you stopped telling me the truth,” I said. “I just didn’t know.”
Within days, the scandal spread online. Her boss was suspended. Her husband filed for divorce. Aisha quit her job and refused to go out. Our neighbors whispered, our friends avoided us. The shame was exhausting.
One night, I woke up to find her standing by the window, staring into the darkness. “Aisha?” I called softly. She turned around, tears welling in her eyes. “Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asked.
I stood up and walked over to her. “No,” I said after a long silence. “I think you’re someone who made a terrible decision out of love. And love can be cruel like this.”
She hugged me tightly, sobbing into my chest. For the first time, I held her without anger – just sadness.
The next morning, I woke up alone. Her clothes were gone. Her side of the closet was empty. On the table was a letter, folded neatly next to her wedding ring. My hands were shaking as I opened it.
> “My love,
if you’re reading this, it means I finally did the right thing – I let you go. You’ve always been too kind for someone like me. I broke every vow I made to you, and no matter how much you’ve forgiven me, I can’t forgive myself. Mama’s treatment is complete now. He is alive because of the mistakes I made, but I have died a thousand times inside.
Don’t look for me. I need to start over, far from the shame I have brought you. Thank you for loving me even though I don’t deserve it.
— Aisha”
The paper was wet before I realized I was crying. He took nothing — not his phone, not his savings. Just the letter and his guilt.
Months passed. I moved to another city, trying to rebuild. One rainy night, as I stopped at a small clinic to give blood, a nurse smiled at me and said, “You came at the right time. The woman who runs this place will be so happy. She started this foundation to help women who can’t afford medical care.”
When she left the office, my heart stopped. It was Aisha. Thinner, calmer, but still the same woman I had known before. Our eyes met, and time froze. She smiled faintly. “Hi, Akin.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You look … happy.”
She nodded. “Finally, it’s me.”
We didn’t speak again. I donated blood, signed the form, and as I turned to leave, she whispered, “Thank you — for letting me go when I couldn’t help myself.”
That night, I realized something: love doesn’t always end in hate. Sometimes, it ends in peace — and the bitter memory of what used to be.
THE END