The woman whose hand you took and left mine hanging

JJ,

I hope that you read this a happier person than I am writing it. The past few months have been strange. Most of the time, it just feels like life is just carrying me along. The other day, Alicia passed by on her way to Mombasa. She said she wished we could move back in time and be little girls again. I don't even know what she meant or why she said it, but the moment she left, I cried. I don't even know why her innocent words made me that sad. Or maybe I know. Maybe it is the fact that most days, I wake up wishing I was somewhere else. It is like for me; happiness always seems to be in places that I am not.

I have spent every day since the day you wrote to me wondering what to say to you. For the last two years, I have been waiting for you to reach out. There was a time when I truly believed that if you reached out, I would heal. That only if you said sorry, somehow my heart will be all mended again. Reading your apology two years later than I needed it just proved to me that it wouldn’t have mattered.

I realize now that saying sorry wouldn't have changed the fact that you carefully looked at both of our hands stretched towards you, and you took hers. If anything, it makes me angry. I can still remember how heavy my hand felt as it fell back to my side. My mother says that if I wasn't ready for the possibility that you might not choose my hand, I shouldn't have entered the competition. She doesn't know this but to be honest, I didn't think it was a competition. At that moment, I thought I was holding out my hand to the love of my life.

For the five years we were in a relationship, you would bring me an overpriced present every time you came back from long business trips that lasted days. I always saw the presents for what they were. You were trying to make yourself feel better because you were guilty. You felt bad that every time you told me you had a business trip, the business was a woman. I know how much it broke you that I was stupid enough to believe you. To be honest, maybe I didn't say anything because deep down, I loved the fact that I didn't have to do anything to you. After all, your self-conscience did all the work for me. Plus, had I asked you about every woman you went on ‘business’ trips with, then our relationship would have become unstable.

Alicia laughed when I told her this theory but I knew that as long as you didn't know that I know, then we had no problem. Plus, you never took one woman to two business trips. Until her. The woman whose hand you took and left mine hanging that day in Embakasi. You took her on five business trips, Jid. Five. I know because she told me. She came to see me on the same day I found out I was pregnant. I knew how much you loved children, and I hoped that this would be our new beginning. It was a huge responsibility to put on an unborn child, but I had nothing else. I loved you, and I hoped that our baby would be a reminder to you that you did, too.

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She was pretty. She had a kind smile and honest eyes. Sometimes, I think it is pity and not kindness that I saw in her eyes. She told me she was your business associate. The way she stressed 'business' made my heart race. She knew that I knew. She said you had been on five business trips together and that she thought if you weren't bound by duty, your business would do so much better because it was real. I don't know why she used the word real. Or why she referred to me as a duty. I wonder every day whether she got the confidence to question our love from you. She watched briefly as I struggled with words before she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

When you bumped into her at the door, I prayed that you would pretend you didn’t know her. That this had been some kind of mistake even if we both knew it wasn't. The moment you looked into her eyes and then at me, however, I saw it. The fairy tale I had worked so hard to protect had come crashing down in front of me. You were tired of the pretending. You had finally realized that your guilt was too immense to be covered by expensive gifts. That the fact that you no longer loved me could not be hidden by a fake smile I wore in attempts to cover my bleeding heart. I spent twenty years of my life in schools and not one taught me how to let go. I found myself holding out my hand to you. . Hoping you will come to me. Even if it was for one last time. I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this if you had.

I don't know why you felt the need to write to me two years later. I don't know who you have been talking to, but an apology for the fact that you fell out of love with me does not make me feel better. If anything, it makes me want to understand you. Understand that you have no control over what your heart wants. But I don't want to understand you. You took everything from me. Let me have this anger towards you. Because without it I am just a woman who understands that love has an expiry date. And I don't.

Vera turned a year and two months last Sunday. We spent her first birthday with your grandmother. Nana has been so lonely since you left, and I figured time with her great-granddaughter would be a nice way to cheer her up. Nana asks about you all the time, I think you should write to her. I hope our daughter grows up to live inspirational love stories. I hope that should the two of you meet one day, she doesn't resent you for something you had no power over. Lastly, Jid, I also hope that Soweto treats you better than Nairobi did.