The air hangs heavy in the Lusaka twilight, thick with the sounds of the city humming to life. You walk through the gate of your home, the chipped paint a reminder of the cracks in your marriage. Inside, the silence echoes the emptiness you feel. He's gone again, at her place, 'working late' as he always says. You know, you *know*, it's not the truth.
You can almost hear her laughter, a sharp, brittle sound that cuts through you, see her familiar, taunting smile. She wasn't entirely a stranger in your life. You'd met her, a wisp of a woman with eyes that held too much sadness, too much knowing. She was a ghost from his past, but she's back, a specter haunting your present.
It began innocently enough, a phone call from his 'friend' to check on him while he worked late. The next thing you knew, you were sitting in your car, watching the familiar silhouette of her house as he stepped inside, the same old story playing out.
His explanations became increasingly strained, his excuses a broken record; 'She's under a curse' he'd whisper, eyes filled with a torment you couldn't decipher. He'd go on about the witch doctor, the spell, the irresistible pull he felt towards her. But you knew, you knew better than to believe these stories.
You confronted her, that fragile, yet powerful woman, challenging the audacity of her presence in your life. The confrontation didn't go well. She spat insults at you, reminding you of their shared history, claiming she was the rightful owner of his heart. You, she declared, were just another temporary presence, a passerby in his life.
A burning rage, potent and acrid, filled you then. In the heat of that moment, you exposed her, letting the world know the truth, the betrayal, the deceit. You thought, you hoped, it would break the spell, that she'd retreat back into the shadows, leaving your marriage intact.
Instead, it seemed to fuel the fire, a vicious cycle of accusations and justifications. She, fueled by a venomous blend of hurt and bitterness, continued her assault, mocking you online, casting shadows on your image.
It's not her, you realize. It's him. It's his weakness, his inability to break free from his past, his inability to choose you. You are caught in a tug-of-war between two women, two versions of his life, and you are losing.
The weight of this is suffocating. Lusaka, once a city you envisioned building a future in, now feels like a labyrinth of betrayal and pain. What do you do? You're left with a choice, one that seems impossible, one that feels like it will tear you apart - stay and fight, hoping he'll eventually break free, or let go, and finally start to heal.
You look at your reflection in the mirror, a face etched with pain, but also with a nascent strength. Lusaka may be harsh, but so are you. You will not be broken. You will find a way out, a way back to yourself, a way to reclaim your life, your happiness, your peace. You may lose him, but you will not lose yourself. This is your fight. This is Lusaka. And you are stronger than you know.
