The day my husband’s pregnant mistress called me a barren woman, I was sitting on the floor of our bedroom, crying over six years of marriage that suddenly felt like a terrible mistake.

My husband, Kelly, stood in front of the wardrobe, buttoning his shirt as if nothing had happened. He had just read a message from the woman carrying his child, and instead of apologizing to me, he was angry that I had discovered his secret.

“Who is Nonye?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He didn’t answer.

“Kelly, I’m talking to you. Who is the woman calling you baby? Who is the woman telling you that she wants to spend the night with you?”

He picked up his wristwatch and fastened it without looking at me.

“Must I explain every little thing I do to you?”

I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.

“Every little thing? Your mistress is pregnant, Kelly! She’s talking about your child, and you’re standing here acting as though I’m the one who has done something wrong!”