Unfaithful: The story of a Married Woman(Darlington Chukwunyere) Amidst being the most dedicated worker in a prominent Oil Company, Michael was the best husband in the whole world as far as Rita was concerned; his affection was so unimpeachable and Rita was overwhelmed in Nuptial harmony. Things however took a new turn when Michael was promoted to the Marketing department. Michael had to travel out of the country for some six month professional course, and this created a little gap in his relationship with Rita as their two year old marriage began taking a new dimension.

Although Michael tried filling the gap through phone calls, and social networking, Rita was visibly not satisfied with the new state of things. There was no doubt in her affection and marital commitment to her husband though, but she was yet to get used to Michael’s absence. The tender loving touch, the good-night kisses and wishes of sweet dreams, the early morning peck and wake up call, with a tray of tea and bread-toast for breakfast… all these made her assume marriage was a bed of roses and shining stars.

However, she soon realized that Michael was on the line of duty and needed to make a compromising choice which is virtually unfavorable to her — she must learn to live with it though.

At work, Rita tried coping with the reality on ground; the fact that she would always return to an echoing, fully furnished, five bedroom apartment every evening, all alone, with no one but the Television to share the serenity with. Rita was slow in making friends, but it had become quite a trade she must learn soon enough.

Rita battled her condition and was rapidly getting inured to it. She programmed her time to suit the present state of things; from home to work, from work back to the house, or from home to the saloon, then to the shopping mall, and back home, during week-ends. She soon got used to her new self and was happy again.

Well, her self contentment was subsequently put to the test as the rains came. She made her way through the garage one raining evening after work; her front tire was flat as well as the spare. There was nothing she could do but either wait on the rain and pick up a mechanic later, or soar through the rain and pick up a taxi. Whichever way, she was going to meet distress. Rita pranced to and fro the garage undecidedly and watched other staff drive away in the rain — soon the day had almost lost illumination.

“Madam, you need help?” it was a male voice.

Turning around to reveal the source, Rita replied, “sorry, I… I have a flat tire.”

“Oh, sorry about that, so embarrassing… how bad is it?” the man asked, bending over to take a look at the tire. “Oh, how about the spare?”

Hissing unenthusiastically Rita replied “hmm, it's flat as well. I forgot to take it out this morning, I mean…”

“That’s okay, that’s okay, le’me check if I can… oh, my spares are flat too. But not to worry, let me drive you home, maybe we might yet see a ‘vulcanizer’ along the line”.

This was a big relief to Rita, and she couldn’t resist showing appreciation. “Oh, thank you so much Mr.…” She greeted, trying to fix in the man’s name.

“Frank…”

“Frank? Wow, frankly speaking Frank, you’ve just saved a soul. My name is Rita. I work here, at the marketing department.”

“Oh come off it, it’s nothing… I was posted newly here, Customer service.”

“Thank you very much Frank, I really appreciate it”. Rita was glad her first fear was over. Frank had just saved her the embarrassment of a wet evening… but a greater fear was ahead — the cold night was around the corner once again.

They drove through the flooded streets amidst the usual rumblings of traffic and thunder, no one said a word again except when some crazy motorist almost scratched Frank’s bonnet while trying to by-pass him, and Frank scolded him exasperatedly.

The next time they spoke was when they got to Rita’s residence and it was brief.

“Thank you so much, Frank” Rita appreciated.

“Don’t mention, it’s nothing. What are friends for? We’re friends aren’t we?”

He was not wrong anyway, the short term encounter had created room for silent appreciation and acquaintances as Frank had been exchanging “friendly” glances with Rita at intervals and there were notes of can-we-be-friends? And silent replies of sure-why-not?

As for Rita, she had not received any form of external or extended care in a long time and this wasn’t a wrong-timing at all. She was okay with it. Besides, Frank wasn’t bad at all. Light skinned, five-feet 2, and a bit muscular… just the perfect physic for Rita’s taste of a-real-guy, yet she was mindful of the metal object on her finger, she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her nuptial vows, so she kept her distance from compromising thoughts.

“Yeah, sure” Rita replied, and giggled satisfactorily. She stepped out of the car and waved at Frank while he reversed his wheels.

All through the night, Rita felt good, amidst the freezing cold and echoes of loneliness. It was as if a bright side of her had been unleashed. She could not contain the happiness that surged through her; so, she extended some to her pillows as the cold night joined in her celebration.

Their acquaintance began to grow afterwards; Rita soon became fond of Frank and his company gradually replaced the sweet memories of her loving husband. From a single lift to multiple lunch dates and subsequently, weekend shopping. Rita was beginning to lose hold of caution and felt safe with Frank. On several occasions they had stayed out late and had faced the temptation of spending the night together. Well, the resistance didn’t last long enough before Frank made the first move. That evening, they returned from work, Frank opted for a hug, which Rita freely obliged, but while at it, their chemistry ignited. Frank held her firmly; his grip was comforting and Rita couldn’t resist the urge to reciprocate and…

Rita woke up next to Frank the next day, on her matrimonial bed. She couldn’t remember anything, she was shocked and her nudity said it all.
Frank seemed undisturbed and so pleased with his position; he must have had a satisfying night.

“My God! What have we done?” Rita exclaimed, cutting lose from Frank’s hold.

“Come off it… we just had sex” Frank replied nonchalantly. “We’re late for work today, any breakfast?”

Rita was very disappointed having discovered that Frank felt no remorse at all. “My God, you’re an animal. You took advantage of me. How could you? How could you?” Rita soon began subbing, but Frank was already on his feet, holding her closer… his arms strongly shielding the remorse in her and yet unleashing another surge of lustful desire. Frank brought his lips closer; their eyes jammed and stuck, and Frank let it out… “I love you, I have always loved you, right from the first day I saw you walking that alley, and I felt the surge of desire… please just give me some space in your heart, I promise I’ll keep it warm everyday of your life…”

“But I’m married, I can’t.” Rita’s resistance was puny; some part of her wished Frank had never come into the picture while the others wished he would never have to leave— and so, the greater part of her took the vote.

As days passed Rita became more at ease with her newly found love; she was accustomed to her unholy relationship with Frank and gradually murdered her scruples.

***

“Did we use a contraceptive? Did you? Answer me!” but there was no response, rather a nonchalant air pervaded the bedroom as Frank struggled with his tie, whistling T-Pain’s In-Love With-a-Stripper. A few seconds later, Rita looked around as if inspecting the floor; four packets of used condoms, a few cigarette butts, her own undies, a pair of Paris Hilton Designers’ shoes, and a disheveled bedroom answered her questions instead.

“Gosh Frank! Have you any idea that I’m married? How could you?”
“But you started the show?”
“For God’s sake you knew I was high! I was tipsy, and you took me in?” Frank drew closer, Rita made to break away at first, but it wasn’t easy. Not that her bones were weak, neither was it that her flesh revolted; but her sinews had been crushed by a mixture of guilt and lustful desires, there was confusion, a clash of wits and a collapse of will. So Rita gave in to Frank’s touch, he held her tight again, and she again, lost the fight against besotted emotions… they did it again, and again, and again.

This became an old story; it repeated over and over again until Rita started asking for it herself at times. The month was almost closing up; it was the last of Michael’s six month Emirate professional course. Rita had begun preparations for a big welcome party for her husband, and her heart was beginning to return to a normal rhythm after having been distorted by Frank’s appearance into her love life. Her feelings for Michael were yet deep and untouched, but she swirled in a storm of regret for having betrayed her nuptial vows with a Drug Addict. Anyway, Mike wouldn’t know about it unless he was told… ‘But by whom?’ certainly Frank wouldn’t dare blackmailing her? Of course they had a nice time together, but that was guided by a code, ‘until-my-husband-returns’ and they had to respect that. It was departure time. Nevertheless, the thought of Michael knowing about her ‘Titanic’ haunted her blood pressure and it made her restored heartbeat fluctuate.

Hmm, nothing they say is hidden under the sun. It is four days to Michael’s return. The couple spoke last night and expressed deep affections for each other over the receiver. “Wow, can’t believe I’ll see you soon my love” Rita had whispered, and Michael had replied, “don’t worry honey, for every past single second of the last six months, I’m going to replace with endless hours of love… I swear to make it all up to you, bit by bit honey. Okay?” then Rita coughed suddenly as though she was choking. “Are you alright baby?” Michael had inquired devotedly, and Rita said, “no dear, I’m fine… excuse me…” and she coughed again.

The cough had been persistent for some weeks now although she’d tried covering it up. It was quite severe and in fact, like a symptom. Maybe she was lovesick or something, since Mike’s return was imminent. In any case she needed seeing a doctor. “Come on baby, you got to see the doctor”
“Oh come on, its’ just flu. I’ll be fine okay?” but Michael insisted she visits their family doctor. “Okay honey, I will…” “Today?” “Yeah!” “That’s right” and they both laughed.

For Rita, Michael’s voice was her greatest panacea and the thought of drinking his presence was an elixir to her errant soul. She was beginning to forget the past though, but her past mistakes yet stared into her face—it was her self-incurred cross, and she had to bear it anyway, it’s just a matter of time, she’d hoped.

The day was almost half spent when she reached the clinic. Dr. Charles was already expecting her since they’d talked over the receiver earlier in the morning. “Hey, not looking bad are you?” Dr. Charles greeted. Six foot three, lanky, and broad face, with such a comic nose frame. He had quite an amazing presence; pretty playful and sensitive to his patients, and had an edge over other physicians in the city. “Good morning Doc.” Rita replied “Is this your nine o’clock? Ah, Africans!” “Sorry doc, I, just. You know…” “Okay, there she goes again, you what… never mind dear, how’ve you have been?” he summarized, letting out a handshake, and a big grin.
Rita took the handshake, and a seat opposite the doctor who professionally observed her frame. “You look pale and… do you have the flu?” he queried and Rita nodded, trying to suppress a surge of cough. “How long have you been coughing?” “Almost a month now, it makes me feel dizzy at times too” she replied. Doctor Charles tore a card from a booklet and began making some notes; anyone could guess they were medical prescriptions. He drew the receiver and issued out some instructions and a few seconds later, a short black nurse appeared beckoning Rita to come along; the doctor nodded in approval as well as handing in the note he’d written some seconds back, and so Rita followed the short black nurse.

Some hours later Rita was in conference with the doctor once again, but this time, she was like a pupil waiting to receive her report-card and the doctor plaid the headmistress baring a mini-file that looked like a report-card. All she just wanted to hear was “well madam, it appears you must have hosted a big mosquito party and you have plenty of malaria parasites swimming in your blood stream” or better still, “hmm, sorry; the result shows you have typhoid”. However, it appeared the doctor had a different idea altogether.

Initially, it took him several hours to find his voice, but at last, he said, “madam, when last did you go for your medics? I mean, have you undergone any diagnosis recently?” this question was beginning to heighten Rita’s Jitters. The doctor’s face read he was not cracking one of his usual jokes, yet Rita could not place a reply for a very long while, until she finally said, “I don’t understand doc, what do you mean by that? Is there any problem?” “Well (taking a deep breath) well I’m afraid there is” then he passed the open file to her. “This is incredibly strange. I don’t really understand it at all. Everything there reads positive.” Rita was amazed. “What? How do you mean positive? As in…?” then she scanned through the inscriptions on the paper and then…
***

Rita felt her head ache, she was lying on a hospital bed, and the doctor was standing by her side. The short black nurse was busy with some tablets while the other one was staring into her face reassuringly. Rita was beginning to recall her last memories and it came haunting her again; the news that soaked her breath and sent her crashing to the floor, the news that tasted like bitter honey. For so many years her marriage had been fruitless, courtesy of Michael’s sterility. Having visited so many therapists and returning with similar results had rubbed her of the hopes of bearing a child. But there it was, deep within the walls of her stomach, the breath of a fetus. It would have called for celebration if not for wrong paternity. The test result showed she was pregnant and that made her collapse some hours ago.

Michael would be returning tomorrow, she had to act fast. Abort the baby? No! That would be suicidal because the fetus was over three months. Her head was bowed as she stared into space through the paper containing her test results. Suddenly, the paper began experiencing a chemical change; it began soaking and shrinking — it was her tears, she sobbed silently.
Definitely that was the pending end of her blissful marriage and she was going to learn living with it. But something was missing.

The doctor had said, “Your text results…” meaning the result of some multiple diagnoses. What else apart from being pregnant could have been wrong with her? Well, she tried knowing by forcing perception through a thick spec of tears which hopped off on the letters as if to wash them of dirt. Thence, she saw the big one. The doctor heaved his head empathically as she looked at his face doubtfully. This can’t be? How could she possibly have contacted HIV?

The whole nightmare of a day was becoming an eternity in hell; Rita was getting fed up of everything generally and she was ready to put an end to it all. She said no further words to anyone as she left the hospital. Dr. Charles tried asking ‘where-to’ but she was taciturn. She walked quietly out of the doctor’s office, and into her car, and drove off the hospital premises.

As pedestrians, commuters, motorists and trees raced passed her, she reminisced her life so far. Really she had not led a very boring life after all, there were those magic moments when Michael would pull his stunts and pull up his chain of surprises. Growing up as the only child of a wealthy parent made her enjoy the least leverage of infanthood. Being a Daddy’s pet, she had everything at her beck and call until death cut her joy short. But then, Michael stepped into the picture to fill the vacuum left behind by her late father and her mother whom she never met.

All these were about changing as she was paving her way for a big family reunion— yes, it was all going to end for good, and she was going to meet her beloved father again. Tears couldn’t stop flowing either, as she made her suicide note. Finally she signed it, with an inscription, “to my darling husband” and pulled over the bridge. Her steps were unsteady and hesitant at first, but gradually, they became regular and persistent as she made her way closer to the edge of the bridge. Beneath was the huge Atlantic ocean, all Rita could hear at that moment was the soothing sound of the sea waves, it gave her peace and her spirit craved for eternal baptism of the Atlantic salt water.

Suddenly her phone vibrated in her pocket. Ironically, she brought it out as though to receive her very last call, but it was Doctor Charles and so she quickly ignored the call. It rang again, and yet again, but she rejected them all. Subsequently, a different ringtone sounded. It was her message alert beep, but she likewise refused opening the mail box. Her mind was made up, she was going to end it all, and would gladly dismiss every obstacle starting with the cell phone… thus she flung the Nokia cell phone away and leaped.

Someone screamed for help. It was a street hawker. She was an eye witness to Rita’s fate. Within a short while, the suicide scene was crowded. The police and some reporters took the lead, and investigations commenced.
The Cell phone rang again, and a police officer picked it up. Guessing it might have belonged to the deceased; he decided to access it for contacts. Another officer called out from within Rita’s car “it’s like she wrote a suicide note?” the rest of the officers began ransacking the entire car, trying to fulfill their investigation protocols as one of the officers browsed through her phone. At first, he opened the envelope and it read, “We’re sorry maam, there was a little mix-up in the lab and the results entered for you were corrupted, we do sincerely regret any inconveniences and apologize for every embarrassment we might have caused you. Please do come and retrieve your actual results, thanks, Doctor Charles Ndukuba.”

What a world. Even the officer reading the text message could not understand what the message had meant. He merely retorted, “All these quack-quack doctors nowadays.”

And that was it, the sad story of a romantic married woman.

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