HmmmToHealing

Marcus

Chapter 2: Marcus

Marcus called that night. My best friend. My brother since JHS. The guy who was in my wedding plans. The guy who helped me paint the spare room for the baby.

"Bro, you need to see this." His voice was low, like he was hiding in a bathroom or something. I could hear water running in the background. Then my phone buzzed twice.

It was a photo. Her. At a hotel in East Legon. Her hair was down, the same way she wore it when she came to my place on Sundays. She was laughing. And next to her, smiling at the camera like he owned the world, was Marcus. My Marcus.

The timestamp in the corner said three weeks ago. 11:42 PM.

Three weeks ago was the same night she cried in my arms and told me the baby was mine. The same night I promised her I’d never leave. I had even gone to the hospital with her for the scan that afternoon. The nurse said 8 weeks and printed us a photo. We were smiling like fools.

I stared at the photo for a long time. My chest felt like someone poured ice water into it. My hands started shaking so bad I almost dropped my phone.

"Where did you get this?" I asked Marcus. My voice sounded dead even to me. Hollow.

"Don’t worry about that, bro. Just thought you should know."

Know what? That my girl was cheating? That my best friend was the guy? That the baby I’d been talking to at night might not even be mine? That everything I built in the last 30 days was a lie?

I didn’t sleep that night. Not one minute. I just kept looking at that photo. Zoomed in. Zoomed out. Her hand on his chest. His arm around her waist. Both of them smiling. At a hotel. With a timestamp.

Dated three weeks ago. The same week she told me the baby was mine. The same week I bought the crib. The same week I told my mother I was going to be a father and she started knitting baby socks.

I wanted to call her and scream. I wanted to drive to Marcus’s house and fight him. But I did nothing. I just sat in the dark, staring at two people who were supposed to be my family, laughing at me from a hotel room in East Legon. And the worst part? I still didn’t know if the baby was mine.The next morning I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red. My phone had 12 missed calls from her. 3 from Marcus. I didn’t answer any of them.

I went to work, but I couldn’t focus. Every time someone said “baby” or “family” or “best friend” I felt sick. The photo kept playing in my head. Her smile. His smile. The hotel room. Three weeks ago.

I kept asking myself one question: If the baby wasn’t mine, why did she let me plan for it? Why did she let me buy the crib? Why did she let me tell my mother?

I didn’t have answers. I only had a photo, a broken heart, and a lie that was about to tear my whole life apart. That night, I didn’t sleep.

I sat on the floor of my room in Accra.

The fan was slow. My chest was heavy.

I kept thinking about the crib.

I built it with my own hands.

I picked the color white because she said it was peaceful.

Peaceful for a baby that wasn’t mine.

Month 1 after the photo.

I stopped telling people “we’re expecting.”

I told my mother the truth. She cried with me.

But she also said, “Son, breathe. You are still you.”

Month 2.

I sold the crib online.

A young couple came to pick it up.

They were excited. They were real.

I smiled for them, even though it hurt.

Month 3.

I deleted her number.

I deleted Marcus’s number.

12 missed calls. 3 missed calls. Gone.

I started running at 5am on the Legon campus road.

One step. Then another.

I was not running away.

I was running toward myself.

Month 4.

I opened a notebook.

I wrote one line every day.

“Today I chose me.”

Some days that was all I wrote.

Month 5.

I stopped checking her status.

I stopped asking mutual friends.

The silence was loud, but it was mine.

I didn’t have answers.

But I had silence. And in that silence, I heard me again.

End of Chapter 2.Month 6.

I went back to work, but different.

I didn’t laugh at jokes about “family” anymore.

I just nodded. I kept my peace.

Month 7.

I moved my bed to face the window.

Accra sun in the morning.

I told myself: “This is a new light.”

Month 8.

I met a therapist at Korle Bu.

One hour. One truth.

She said, “Grief is not weakness. It’s proof you loved.”

Month 9.

I stopped calling it “the betrayal.”

I started calling it “the day I woke up.”

I am not the man she left.

I am the man who stayed for himself.

The lie broke me.

My truth is building me.

Final End of Chapter 2.Month 10.

I cleaned my room.

I threw away the baby scan folder she gave me.

It was empty anyway.

Month 11.

I cooked for myself. Jollof. Plain. No extra spice.

I ate it slow. I tasted it.

For the first time in a year, food didn’t hurt.

Month 12.

One full year since the photo.

I didn’t post anything.

I didn’t text anyone.

I just sat on my balcony in Accra and watched the rain.

The city was loud. My mind was quiet.

I was quiet. I was free.

The crib is gone.

The lie is gone.

The 12 missed calls are gone.

The 3 missed calls are gone.

I am still here.

I am breathing.

I am building.

I am not the man she left.

I am the man who stayed for himself.

The lie broke me.

My truth is building me.

This is not the end of my story.

This is the end of Chapter 2.Month 12 ended.

Year 1 ended.

The pain did not leave that night.

But something else started too.

My name. My breath. My road.

I picked them up off the floor.

I closed the book on her.

I closed the book on the lie.

I opened the book on me.

Accra was loud outside.

Horns. Music. Life.

But my heart was louder now.

Louder with truth than fear.

I sat on the balcony.

Rain on my face.

No phone. No messages.

Just me and the city.

The crib is gone.

The calls are gone.

The shame is gone.

I am still here.

I am still writing.

Chapter 2 closed.I am not broken. I am becoming.

I am not lost. I am learning.

I am not her past. I am my future now.Chapter 2 is done. For me.!!!!!! This is my ending.