My Wife Got Rid Of Our First Child Because I Didn’t Help With House Chores

A year after our marriage, my wife got pregnant. I remember that period vividly because it felt like the first real peace we had experienced since we said our vows. I was genuinely happy. I was over the moon. In my mind, this child was not just a baby. He was hope. He was the glue that would finally hold our shaky marriage together.

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That night, I lay beside my wife and placed my head on her tummy, pretending I could hear the baby speak. I imagined him telling me he was happy to be coming into our home, happy to be ours. I smiled like a child myself. For the first time in a long while, I felt settled.

But the truth is, even before the pregnancy, our marriage had been struggling. Most of our problems came from expectations we had of each other. I was the one providing for the house. I paid the rent, covered the bills, handled groceries, emergencies, and anything that came up. I did it willingly. I never complained about money, and I never asked my wife to contribute financially. I believed that as a man, that was my responsibility.

However, my wife expected something else from me. She expected me to help with household chores. I did not have a problem helping. I made that clear. What I told her was simple. I could help when my hands were free or when I had time, but she should not expect me to do chores all the time. I felt that was fair. After all, I was carrying the financial burden of the home.

She did not see it that way. She would intentionally cook cassava and wait for me to come and pound the fufu. She would light fire in the coal pot and expect me to fan it while she cooked the banku. If I refused or delayed, it would turn into a fight. Sometimes, she would wash clothes and wait for me to fold them. If I did not, it became another argument.

There were times she went further. She would intentionally wear jeans and a belt to bed just to deny me intimacy because I did not help in the kitchen or because I did not fold laundry. That hurt me deeply. I felt punished in my own home.

I fought back with words too. I told her, “I put money on the table for everything in this house, and you still expect me to do chores?” She would reply angrily, “Do you think money on the table can get up and go to the market? Do you think money on the table can cook or clean this house?”

This became a permanent issue between us. No matter how long we talked about it, we never truly understood each other. We argued, cooled down, adjusted, and continued living somewhere in the middle. It was not peaceful, but it was manageable.

Then she got pregnant. In my mind, that pregnancy would calm everything down. I believed having a child would soften her heart and help her understand my sacrifices. I believed it would unite us.

Three months into the pregnancy, she complained of severe stomach pain early one morning. She went to the hospital and came back later that day with news that shattered me. She had miscarried. I was shocked. I was in pain. I felt empty. I asked questions like a confused man who had just lost something precious. “What did the doctor say? Would we be able to get pregnant again?”

She cried. Sometimes uncontrollably. She said the pain was unbearable and she could not understand why she should lose a baby. I mourned with her. I held her. I comforted her. I never once imagined that the story I was being told was incomplete.

God was kind to us. A little over a year later, she got pregnant again. This time, she carried the pregnancy to term. We now have a son who is one year old.

But even with a child in the house, the fighting did not stop. I honestly believe I tried my best. I helped with the baby. I washed clothes. I cleaned the house sometimes while she focused on the child. I did what I could without neglecting my responsibilities outside the home. One evening, I returned from a trip tired and exhausted. When I asked her where my food was, she expected me to come and help in the kitchen. I was tired. I said, “I am exhausted. Can you not do a simple thing without involving me?”

That sentence changed everything. She got angry, carried the baby inside, and refused to give me food. According to her, she was also tired because she had been carrying the baby all day. What made it more painful was that we had a lady who helped with the baby during the day. She was a distant relative of hers and left when we both returned from work. I thought the help was sufficient.

That night, we had a serious fight in the bedroom. I was frustrated and angry. I told her I was tired of what I saw as laziness. That was when she screamed at me, “Do you think carrying a baby for nine months is an easy job? Do you think feeding a baby throughout the night is a job for the faint hearted? If you’re not heartless, you would pity me.”

Of course I fought back and asked if she expected me to carry the baby for nine months and then she said, “I knew this would happen. I knew you would leave me to suffer the consequences of child birth alone that’s why I aborted the first one when I was not ready. I swear this will be our last if that’s how you’re going to behave.”

At first, I thought I misheard her. She repeated it. She said it clearly. She said she aborted our first child intentionally.

My head went blank. Her words echoed in my mind over and over. I asked her how she could do that and still cry with me. How she could pretend to mourn something she destroyed. She told me she knew the kind of husband and father I would be. She said what she was experiencing now was exactly what she feared, and she was done having children.

I reported the issue to her parents. I told my parents too. They said she was only angry and probably did not mean what she said. I knew she meant every word. When her parents came to address the issue, she told them she said it only to hurt me because my words were hurting her. She repeated the same thing to my parents. Everyone believed her.

They sat with her for hours advising her on the way forward. She apologized to my parents but not to me. According to my parents, the problem is resolved but when it comes to me and her, she makes me feel what she said was the truth and she doesn’t regret it.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

Now I am confused. I am tired. I am scared. I provide everything in this house and I am still expected to do chores as though my effort means nothing. On top of that, I am living with the belief that my wife intentionally killed our first child. My mind cannot rest.

Are my fears valid? Or am I overthinking? Sometimes, I lie awake at night and ask myself if this woman was sent into my life to destroy my happiness. And for the first time since I got married, I am seriously questioning whether this marriage is worth holding onto.

—Sammy

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