Please stop loving me, part 3

Wacha upuss, soma part one and two kwanza.
When a man loves a woman, she can either turn into an angel or a devil. The woman I didn’t want to love turned into an angel and the one I had to love had turned into a devil with horns and here I was, sitting on the horns of a dilemma.
Since Ann had concluded I loved her, she had blossomed like a flower. Every sentence had both our names in it. She put my pictures in her living room and my face was her screensaver. in the meantime, yours truly was shitting bricks. With one mighty scoop, I had dug a deep hole and jumped in it.
At home, just like a boiling kettle runs out of steam, the fight had left my wife. On that fateful day, for the first time, I had left the house with no explanation and spent the night. In a panic, she called my parents, the hospital and work colleagues. When I came back to the house, she was waiting for me, phone absent. Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks. She begged me to sit and talk but I went upstairs, changed and went to work.
I spent the next few weeks in a daze. I felt like the subject of a bad science experiment involving cloning. My personality had split into two separate false ones.
Whenever Ann sent me a message, I dreaded opening it. The love she expressed made me panic inside. Why this? At home, the desperate pleas for forgiveness and reconciliation increased my panic. Why now ?
The conflict affected my work and the boss called me in for a meeting. I gave him the standard problems at home line. He told me to sort it out or else. Ann called me in for a meeting. She wanted to plan our life together after she finished university. She wanted us to sort it out. My wife called me in for a meeting. She wanted us to see our parents or pastor to make things work. She wanted us to sort our marriage out. The thoughts in my head were so mixed up I needed some time alone to sort it out.
In desperation, I sought the arms of a temporary lover. I went to a bar on Koinange Street and picked up a light skinned distraction. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t rise up to the occasion. She took my money and laughed at how married men left their free wives and went to pay for three minutes of useless love. As I drove home from the shady hotel, I felt guilt and anger.
At home, my wife informed me that the meeting had been arranged for that weekend. I texted Ann and informed her we wouldn’t meet. She replied, asking why. I informed her about the upcoming marriage summit and she wished me luck. The poor girl didn’t know it was her downfall being planned. As I walked into the pastor’s house, I prepared my armour for an attack but what happened completely threw me off. Instead of being lambasted for cheating, my wife apologised for her aloofness and for not being a good wife. Both our parents lectured her about keeping a happy home and the pastor rounded it off with a sermon about the man being the head of the house. I was confused. Somehow I had turned into the hero of the story.
I was on the spot. I had to pretend that everything was okay yet at the same time maintain my affair with Ann. Despite me pushing our meetings to every other Friday, she seemed content with a smaller slice of the cake. It felt to me like she was expecting the whole cake later. She kept talking about us both being free to be together forever.
One evening, when I got home, I found my wife sitting alone in the TV room and she asked me to join her. With joy in her eyes, she said she had a surprise. I asked what it was and she told me that she had talked to my boss and convinced him to give me a month off. She had arranged for us to renew our marriage vows in Mombasa and had arranged everything, down to the invitations for both our families. I struggled to smile even as my stomach dropped down below my knees. Instead of digging out of the hole, I was being cemented inside it. It was going to be in mid-November.
When I saw Ann that weekend, she informed me that she too had an announcement. She was graduating at the beginning of December. To her, it was the start of a new phase in our relationship. To me, it was the start of the end. I encouraged her to do well in her final exams and made love to her with my mind miles away. She politely asked my to pay for her graduation gown and buy her a dress and all I could think about was another gown and dress that were going to be purchased.
As if someone had robbed me of time, it was soon the day of out flight to Mombasa. The whole family gathered in my house and even the teens seemed enthusiastic. There were loud conversations and happy laughter. I joined in with my face but my heart was weeping. I knew at this point I would have to make a choice. Leave the life I had schemed and saved for or try and find true happiness. It was not an easy choice.
Suddenly, evil thoughts crowded my mind. This was my wife, who had been with me through thick and thin. What had that little slut done for me ? After all, I met her in a bar. Which decent woman goes to bars ? She knew I was married. What did she expect ? She said she loved me. How many little college boys have fallen for such lines ? I felt a small flame of hatred against Ann flicker into life. I fanned the flames until it was a burning rage. How dare she try and ruin my good life ?
I physically pushed everyone into the waiting cars and we set off. During the flight, I found myself alone in the seat next to the window. I decided to write a text message to the little whore and send it. I would then switch off my phone for the rest of the day.
I typed the message and checked it for mistakes then pressed send.
Anne. As I write this, I am on my way to Mombasa to renew my wedding vows with my wife, the love of my life. She has been there for me through thick and thin, for better or worse, for richer or poorer. I will love her until death do us part. I suggest you find yourself a man of your own age and build the life I have built with my loving wife. Best of luck in the future.

Next part please, very captivating.

Chesos…mchimba kisima huingia mwenyewe…this hit and run game could ruin your life forever meeen…give us more baba

You can write man

I salute you manare. You can, write.

Awesome BT, you have outdone yahself!!!

Great story !

DAMN! Keep em coming mzeiya

Still following…

great read… epilogue inakuja ama tujijazie?

You are really good at this!

If this is real,fuck!!

Dude, choose a sheppart here.
When it wakes up I shall Whatsapp it to you.
Very fine writing.

Bril’ stuff Baba Tois. I was beginning to feel the pain…I have seen folk so close to me go thru this shits.

Great craftsmanship you are a storyteller in a class of your own. Kongole