Next Door I


My affair was not a planned thing. It really wasn’t. I’m not justifying myself, but it’s just something that you would have done too.


Where do I start?? From now or from the beginning??


I was happily married. I had two children one was nine and the other one was five. Me and my wife were still not sure if we would have a third child. We talked about it often. We were still young, and we had good jobs and things were looking good for us. Our children would be well spaced, so it wouldn’t be too much of a financial burden on us when they grew up. But we only just talked about it.

My marriage was good. I was forty-five and my wife was thirty-two and I had been married for ten years. My wife was beautiful, but she no longer put in an effort like she used to. To be fair, I didn’t either. We only went out of our way to impress our bosses now, and maybe our families when we were at large gatherings. Like Christmas and new year. Intimacy was reduced and reducing, compared to our first three years of marriage. My wife was bigger now. She had a bigger ass and fatter cheeks, but it didn’t move me because she always wore unflattering clothes. I had a beard now too. And a pot belly and wrinkles on my face and around the corners of my eyes. And I’ve heard her complain more than once that she didn’t like the way I shaved my head clean. She wanted me to do one of those fashionable styles that the younger men in her office did. She even took me to a barber shop once, but I still shaved my head the way I wanted.

It wasn’t wickedness, it was just a preference for certain habits and appearance when you were growing old. Or you were married, or both.

Financially, we were okay. We both earned good money. My wife earned more than me, but it didn’t matter. I was okay with it. I still dropped money in the house. I still gave her money for pepper and clothes for the kids and a little to save up for rent. I gave her eighty percent of my salary every month. The agreement was that she could spend it as she pleased with the entirety of our family’s expenses in mind. The only exception was me. I would take care of myself with the remaining twenty percent. It may seem like an absurd arrangement, but when you considered how much I was making, you would let out a whistle. And she was also making more than me, so she could easily have done these things even without my input.

This had been the arrangement ever since our second year of marriage when she started earning more than me. Then, she used to send her salary to my account, then ask me for money for things we needed, but I liked my freedom and peace of mind, so I made her sit down and we formulated this arrangement. Together. Compared to now, my salary wasn’t much then, but it was still very substantial.

And I felt very comfortable giving her my money because I knew my wife was a very smart woman. Very smart and very responsible.

I knew this when I decided to start dating her. I knew it when we were dating and courting. I knew it before I decided that she was the one I would get married to. And I definitely knew it when I was making arrangements to give her almost my entire income. But my respect for her doubled – no, tripled, when last year, she took me out for my birthday.

She took me to a new house. A small duplex, newly built and complete with everything a house would need. It was tiled and painted. The plumbing was done and the electric fittings had been installed even though there were no bulbs in the house yet. The flooring outside was even done. everything was perfect. it was a house that was ready for habitation, and it was perfect. At first, I thought she was showing me the house because she wanted us to buy it. I was already telling her that it was a sensible investment, and we could work towards it if we cut our unnecessary expenses and maybe worked extra hours. I could even start taking private deals, independent of my company.

After the whole tour, we went back outside and she asked me “Do you like it??” of course I liked it. it was a beautiful house in a good neighborhood. Also added to the fact that our rent in our current place was exorbitant and tiring. I loved the house.

And then she replied to me by bringing out the papers of the land and the house. It was actually ours. She had been building it slowly, very slowly, after we had made the arrangement for the salary division. Apparently, when she started earning more than me, her friends had asked her not to give me her salary. She should spend it on herself and build a life for herself and her children, while still collecting my money to cater for things around the house. She had gone against their advice and had given it to me anyways. And when I had given the money back, and even given her my own income, she had gone to her parents and explained everything to them. And they advised her that she should do this, and she had started the project without telling me about it. this one was even funnier because her parents didn’t even like me. Her dad hadn’t been present at her wedding in protest of her choice of husband. Me.

That day, I cried. I cried right there when she was telling me everything. I cried when I got back home at night. I cried when I was telling my brother about it. That was truly the happiest day of my life.

We moved into the new house five months later, because we had already paid our rent and we wanted to finish it anyways. Plus we didn’t want to disrupt the kids in the middle of the school year, but eventually, we moved.

It is worth mentioning that on the papers of the land, it was my name that my wife had filled out as owner. Just my name. Not Mr. & Mrs. No. She had put only my name on all the properties. I owned them.


The problem started after we moved.


It took us an entire week to move. We gave a lot of things out and bought several more things as we were moving, but eventually, we were done. we were off to a new life. After moving in, it took us another month to settle in, and integrate ourselves into the neighborhood. We joined the Landlord’s Association and visited our neighbors and met their families. The kids found someone to play with and I found trouble. Three houses away from mine was Tinu’s house. Right on the same street, on the same side of the road, and with exactly three houses between us, I had found Tinu again.

Long story short, Tinu was the love of my life. Tinu was the girl I would die for. Tinu was still the girl I would die for, even after having a wife and two children. Tinu was the person that had ever managed to evoke the most emotion out of me. And she was right there. Three houses away.

I had history with Tinu. The most intense memories I had ever made with anyone was with her, and I had been married for ten years. Before that, I had been dating my wife for four years. Still, Tinu was the one.

I can’t honestly remember how or why or when Tinu and me broke up, but we did. And two months after moving into the new house, I set eyes on her again.

I first saw her in the afternoon of that fateful Saturday, getting into her car parked across the road. She was wearing a very eye catching lace material and very heavy makeup. The woman that got into the car with her too was similarly dressed. I really didn’t recognize her at first. But I saw her, and I remember remarking to my wife that we had some very rich neighbors and she just laughed about it. That night, we went over to say hello and introduce ourselves as the new neighbors.

We met her husband at home, and we started talking. He was a nice chap. Younger than me. Not as handsome as me. Chubby. Igbo. And from all the signs I saw, he was richer than me.

We were already seated and having a conversation with the husband before my little spoonful of trouble walked out of the room and came to join us.

She was dressed in simple clothes, comfortable ones, very different from what she had worn out this afternoon. In fact, if I hadn’t known it was her, I would have argued that it was someone else.

She came out and immediately set out to hosting us. She made us very comfortable. Serving us generous plates of food and drinks and insisting we eat and even take something home for the kids. I don’t know if that was a show or not, but mt wife loved her instantly. That was the day we exchanged contacts. Me and my wife, her, and her husband. That was the day we gave out our phone numbers and established channels of communication.

Tinu didn’t bother me with calls, no. not with texts either. But every time she saw me, she winked. It was sharp and sultry at the same time, and I would be the only one to have seen it. Sometimes I would drive past and she would be sitting right there in her compound, reading a newspaper, drinking a smoothie. Wearing a tank top and shorts that put her soft dark brown skin on display. When we met in public places and we weren’t with families, she would touch me and drag her long nails over wherever she touched. In fact, I’m not entirely sure how our illicit relationship came to be the highlight of my week and I was always looking forward to seeing her, but it was.  And the relationship was beautiful -is beautiful. We don’t go at it every day, but we were like jackrabbits on steroids when we went at it. Just once or twice every fortnight. Always at her place. She didn’t have kids yet, and her husband was not always around, so it was easy to have the house to herself.

And the sex was always intense. Better than what we used to do as children. And I’m not proud to admit it, it was better than what I had with my wife at home. And even with the shame and regret I always felt after the sex, it still felt like it was worth it, and I was doing the right thing. After time, the sex has only gotten better and that shame has reduced, or I have gotten used to it.

It has been almost a year and half now that I moved into the neighborhood, and almost nine months since Tinu and I have started this relationship. And no one had found out about it. no one has found out about us.

Nothing has happened to us. Not yet. I don’t think anything will. I don’t want anything to. Because I can’t imagine leaving Tinu. Not for my wife and kids. Not even with everything she has done for me. Tinu was the one.

I do not expect you to understand, because I do not fully understand it myself, but Tinu is the one. It has to be Tinu. It has to be her or no one else.

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