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I dated my wife for five years and married her after we graduated from the university. Things were not going well for us, but we decided to get married to avoid mockery from people.
After four months, she got a job at a bank and was well-paid. I was happy for her while I was still struggling to become a better man. We were happy, but deep down, I wasn’t. A man without money is rarely valued, even by those closest to him.
I began to notice a particular man who frequently dropped my wife at home. When I asked her about him, she said he was her boss, who helped her because of her hard work. Sometimes, a particular number would call her at night, and when I asked, she always replied it was business-related.
I believed her and didn’t doubt her because I trusted her deeply. Why wouldn’t I trust a woman who worked so hard to support us?
Eventually, I decided to go into forex trading. With determination and God’s help, I became financially stable. By then, we had a son and a daughter. I loved my children dearly. My son had a striking resemblance to her, while my daughter looked like me.
With my newfound stability, I pleaded with my wife to quit her job since I now had enough to care for the family. She refused, saying she didn’t want to be idle. To support her, I opened a mini-mart for her, but she insisted on continuing her banking job. I respected her decision, understanding that she had the right to make choices for herself.
A year later, I decided to relocate abroad with my family to start a new life. She was thrilled about the idea, and we began making preparations, including buying food items. Part of the process required us to get medical tests done. However, my wife kept delaying hers, coming up with one excuse after another.
We were running out of time, so I decided to take the kids to the lab myself. She agreed but started acting strangely—moody and distant. When I asked if it was work stress and urged her again to quit, she refused.
The next day, while my kids were at school, I received a call from their school, informing me that my son was vomiting blood. Panicking, I called my wife, but she didn’t answer. I rushed to the school, only to find that my son had already been taken to the hospital. Before I arrived, he was pronounced dead.
The doctor said it was food poisoning. I was devastated. How? When? Why? Who? These questions tormented me. I tried calling my wife again, but she wasn’t picking up.
I eventually took my son’s body home, heartbroken and confused. My wife was still unreachable, so I informed her family, mine, and a few close friends about the tragedy. When she returned, she looked shattered.
She claimed she had been robbed, losing her phone and money. We buried our son, but I couldn’t shake the confusion surrounding his death. The food he took to school was tested and found to be free of poison, which made me suspect the school.
