“I trusted you, Dedan. I gave you my heart, my body, and my life… and this is what I get?” I whispered to myself, tears blurring my vision as I looked at our baby sleeping peacefully. At 27, I never imagined I would feel this kind of pain—betrayed by the man I chose to be the father of my child.
When I found out I was pregnant, Dedan promised me the world. He said, ‘We will build a life together, Maureen. I will be there for you and the baby.’ I believed him. I left my family’s worries behind, trusting him completely. But soon, the man I loved became a stranger.
He started coming home late, smelling of alcohol and other women. Sometimes he wouldn’t come home at all. He stopped buying food, diapers, or anything our baby needed. One evening, after another night of drunken silence, he hit me. I remember sobbing and saying, “Yaani Dedan, umeamua kuniaribia maisha! Umeona sina maana juu nimekuzalia? Huko hukuwa tayari na kulea watoto wako, na ulinidanganya! Hutawai niwacha!” But my words fell on deaf ears. He laughed. He didn’t care.
I tried to hold on. I prayed he would change. But love alone couldn’t save me from his cruelty. Seven months into this nightmare, I realized I had to leave. I gathered my courage, packed our child’s things, and left. For the first time in my life, I walked away from a man I loved… a man I thought would protect me.
For months, I suffered alone. Dedan vanished. He switched off his phone, moved to a new place, and lied, telling everyone he was in Dubai. I felt abandoned, hurt, and angry. I cried to myself every night, thinking, “How could someone I loved so much leave me like this? How can he hide while I struggle with our baby?”
Finally, I decided I could no longer be powerless. I went to Dr. Kashiririka, hoping for guidance. I told him everything: the abuse, the lies, the neglect. He looked at me and said, “Tumfunge, asiwai oana na akiona washikane.” I nodded. That was exactly what I wanted. I would make Dedan face what he had done—not with violence, but by showing him the truth of his failures.
Yesterday, eight months after I left, my phone rang. It was Dedan. I froze. His voice was shaky, full of regret. “Maureen… I want to see you. Please… can you come to Mombasa?” My heart raced, but I knew I could not go without conditions.
I looked at my baby and said firmly, “Dedan, if you want to see me, there are rules. You will take responsibility for our child. You will provide for us. You will never hurt us again. If not… I will not come.”
For the first time, I felt a strange power—like I was finally in control of my life and my story. I had been the victim, yes, but I would not stay one forever. I whispered to my baby, “This child will know a mother who never gave up. And a father… he will either rise or remain lost. But we will survive, and we will thrive.”
I realized something in that moment: my life was no longer about Dedan’s mistakes. It was about protecting myself and my child. It was about standing tall, even when the world seemed to conspire against me. And I knew, deep down, that I would never let anyone take that power from me again.
“Were it not for God and the intervention of Dr Kashiririk, the way I know Dedan could not have called. I love him and am ready to forgive him Tulee watoto,” Maureen.
