The Man I Wanted but Could Never Have
It’s been three years since I lost my husband. Sometimes I still wake up expecting to hear his voice, or see his clothes hanging by the bathroom door, the way he always left them. Grief, I’ve come to learn, is a quiet visitor. It stops showing up loudly, but it never really leaves.
But through it all, Chike was there.
He was my husband’s best friend — the one who stood beside him during our wedding, who toasted to our love, who came over to fix things in the house when my husband got too busy. He was family even before fate made it official.
When my husband died in that accident, I was a complete mess. I didn’t eat for days. I couldn’t speak to anyone. I didn’t even cry at the funeral. But Chike — he never left my side.
He would come by every evening to check on me. At first it was just to help with the kids, then groceries, then driving me to the hospital for my checkups. Eventually he started bringing food — cooked food. He said I needed strength. I didn’t argue. I was too broken to resist anything kind.
The neighbours started talking. They said I was moving on too fast. They said it was inappropriate. But how do you explain that a man who never once touched you, never crossed a line, was the only thing keeping you from drowning?
Over time, Chike became more than a support system. He became a habit. When something broke in the house, I called Chike. When my son had his first fever, it was Chike who drove us to the clinic at 2 a.m. When I cried over memories I couldn’t shake, it was his chest I cried on — even if just briefly, even if he never held me longer than was necessary.
For the past two years, he was there. Quiet. Reliable. Gentle. And without realizing it, I fell for him.
Not in a desperate way. Not in a rebound way. But in a slow, terrifying way that I tried so hard to ignore. I told myself it was gratitude. I told myself I was projecting. But the truth? I loved him. Deeply. Honestly.
But I never told him.
I kept it to myself, thinking maybe one day he would see it too. Maybe one day he’d realize we were meant to heal each other.
That day came today — but not how I imagined.
He called to say he wanted to stop by. I cooked his favourite — jollof rice and fried plantain. I even wore makeup, something I hadn’t done in months. I thought… maybe this was it.
He came in smiling. But he wasn’t alone.
The girl beside him was younger. Pretty. Well-spoken. He introduced her as Ada, his fiancée.
I smiled. Or tried to. My lips moved, but my heart… my heart shattered into pieces right in front of them.
I don’t even remember what I said. Something about “congratulations” and “I’m so happy for you.” Lies. Every single word tasted like poison.
When they left, I locked the door, walked into my room, and cried. Not the kind of tears that fall quietly. The kind that come from your stomach. The kind that make you curl up like a child.
I had hoped for him. Prayed. Waited. And in all that time, I never told him how I felt.
Maybe I was scared he’d reject me. Maybe I thought it would ruin the bond we had. Or maybe I just foolishly believed he’d somehow just… know.
Now I know better.
The man who held me together after I lost everything… was never mine. And never will be.
And now, I have to learn how to grieve all over again — not for a dead husband this time, but for a love that never even had the chance to begin.
The End
