I BORROWED MY SISTER'S HUSBAND FOR ONE WEEK

My name is Lena, and I have always lived in my sister's shadow. My sister Vanessa has everything. At 28, she lives in a three-storey luxury villa in Bastos with a swimming pool that looks like something from i********:. She has a handsome, rich husband named Eric Mballa, a Mercedes G-Wagon, and a closet full of designer clothes that still have price tags on them. Me? I am 24. I live in a single room in Mendong, with a mattress on the floor and a hot plate that burns everything. I am unemployed, my university degree is gathering dust, and yesterday I was told to leave my room if I don't pay rent. That is why when Vanessa called me at 11 PM, crying, I thought she was mocking me. "Lena, please, you have to help me!" she sobbed on the phone. "Vanessa? What happened? Is Eric...?" "It's my Canada visa! The embassy called! They have an opening tomorrow in Douala, but Eric will kill me if he knows I am leaving! You have to take my place!" I sat up. "What do you mean take your place?" "Just for one week! Come and live in my house, be me. Sleep in my bed. The house girls know me, but they won't question much. Eric... Eric and I haven't spoken properly in months. He won't notice. He works late. Please, Lena!" I should have said no. Any normal person would have said no. But then she said the magic words. "I will pay you. 500,000 FCFA for one week. And I will pay your rent for one year." 500,000 FCFA. One year rent. For me, that was like 5 million. "Why do you need to go to Canada so badly? Is it for work?" I asked. There was silence. "It's... personal. Just don't let Eric touch you. Don't tell him the truth. And don't... don't fall in love." "Fall in love? With your husband? Vanessa, are you crazy?" "Promise me the three rules! Promise!" "Fine, I promise. Don't fall in love, don't tell the truth, don't let him touch me." The next morning, I stood in front of her gate in Bastos. A huge black gate with security cameras. A guard opened it and looked at me confused. "Madam Vanessa? You cut your hair?" I touched my short natural hair. Vanessa had long Brazilian weaves. I had forgotten that detail. "Yes... I cut it. Something new," I said, trying to sound rich and bored like her. The house was colder inside than outside. Everything was white, gold, and empty. No photos. No warmth. And then he came down the stairs. Eric Mballa. He was not like the photos Vanessa posted. In photos he looked arrogant. In real life, he looked tired. Broken. He wore a simple black shirt, his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong arms. His face was handsome but his eyes were so sad. He stopped when he saw me. He stared for a long time. "Vanessa?" he said, his voice low. "Hi... honey," I whispered, my heart beating so fast I thought he could hear it. He walked closer. Too close. I could smell his perfume — expensive, woody. He looked at me like he was seeing a ghost. "You... you are different," he said, reaching out to touch my face, but then stopping. I stepped back. Rule number three: Don't let him touch you. "I made breakfast," I blurted out. His eyebrows rose. "You made breakfast?" Vanessa never cooked. I remembered. "Yes. Ndole. And plantains." For the first time, a small smile appeared on his cold face. "You haven't cooked in two years." "I felt like... trying something new." He looked at me again, and this time his eyes were softer. "You look beautiful without all that makeup, Vanessa." Nobody had ever called me beautiful. Especially not a man like him. And in that moment, standing in my sister's expensive kitchen, wearing my sister's silk robe that was too big for me, I realized I had already broken rule number one. Because I felt my heart beat for a man who was not mine. And upstairs, in my sister's locked drawer, my phone vibrated with a message from an unknown number: "Vanessa, where is my money? If you don't pay, I will tell Eric about the baby. - Marc" My sister was not just hiding a husband. She was hiding a whole other life.