The Man Found Grace

Dear God,

I was the last to go to the doctor’s office for no particular reason. Maybe procrastination, maybe fate. I scanned the room restlessly, because hospitals are not my favourite places. They are necessary evils, like mathematics in secondary school. You don’t like it, but without it, life becomes complicated. Please Lord, if my doctor happens to read this, remind him that I deeply appreciate his good service… just not the hospital smell.

My daughter was with me, bouncing in and out of her philosophical moods. Lord, you know this child, sometimes when she asks questions, I wonder if an old woman stole my baby’s body. At first, I answered half-heartedly, trying to distract myself. But after the fifth “Mummy, you are not listening, why? That’s the 3rd wrong answer in a roll”. I gave up. I let her talk until her energy shifted, and she drifted away to play with another child.

Just as I exhaled in relief, the man beside me smiled. I smiled back politely.

“She’s intelligent,” he said, nodding at my daughter.

“Yes,” I nodded with my polite smile. Inside, I groaned. Not today, Lord. I am not up for chitchat.

“How old is she?”

“Eight.”

He wasn’t done. His mouth was only warming up…. (I groaned inwardly, I really need some peace and quiet)

“They’re adorable at that age. My daughter is nine, and she already thinks she knows everything.”

I nodded again, my head already rehearsing the art of silent endurance. But then I saw the two girls bonding across the room, and it softened me a little.

“Pretty girl,” I said nodding at his daughter.

“Thanks,” he replied. “I just wish I could do more… protect her from the harsh realities of life.”

Oh Lord. The dreaded sob story alert was flashing. My brain whispered: “Brace yourself. He’s about to unload.”

I groaned inwardly again, but he was determined.

“Is she your first?” he asked looking directly at my daughter.

“Nope, my last.”

“How many do you have?”

“Four, by the last count,” I said sheepishly.

Though honestly, sometimes it feels like I have forty. But which one would I remove, Lord? They all came with their drama, but they also came with their deep love and laughter.

He laughed so hard. “From your last count? Are you still counting?”

For the first time, I laughed too. His humour was disarming.

“Nope. But sometimes they are a handful.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I should have three… technically.”

Should?…… Technically? Those words scratched my curiosity.

“What do you mean technically?”

And then he sighed the kind of sigh that carries the weight of a mountain.

“I’m in a stuck place. Honestly, I don’t know how to navigate this without someone getting hurt.”

My spirit whispered: “Please, do not ask further.” But my mouth, Lord, my mouth betrayed me.

“What are you navigating?”, I shifted curiously

He looked down, then began.

“We’ve been married for ten years. I walked into marriage with hope, love, and trust, believing I had found a partner to share my life with. But just a few years into our vows, my world shattered, my wife cheated. I suspected some things but didn’t pursue them. I trusted her. Then, one day, my neighbour shoved my nose into reality. He helped me confirm that my wife was having an affair with another man.”

When confronted, she broke down in tears, begging for forgiveness, swearing it would never happen again. Against my pain, I chose to believe her, to rebuild, to fight for what we had.

Lord, time froze. Did this man just casually announce infidelity in a hospital waiting room like he was narrating the evening news?

“And?” I whispered.

“And I forgave her,” he said matter-of-factly. “We have our 1st baby to our name. People make mistakes. I didn’t want my daughter to suffer because of it”

Lord, was this man human? Because the African men I know, ehm…. at this point, someone’s ancestors would already be crying in the village square.

And he wasn’t bitter. His voice was calm, almost amused.

“But over the last 12 years, those promises turned into repeated betrayals. She has cheated four more times—at least, that I know of. Each time, a piece of me broke that can never be mended. By then we had three kids (two girls and a boy), and to complicate it, the third one – the boy – wasn’t mine. The man she cheated with wanted the child. Not her, just the child. He’d been searching for an heir for years, and my wife delivered it to him like uber delivery.”

I nearly fell off the chair. Wait, Lord, wait! Are You hearing what I am hearing?

“And what did you do?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“I released her and the boy. I kept my two biological children. I cannot walk away without scarring them, yet staying has destroyed me slowly, day after day. She comes to visit them when she wants.”

Lord, I stared. I truly stared. No bitterness, no anger, no plan for revenge. Instead, this man was laughing softly, like he was relating an out-of-body experience.

“Wait. You allow her to come back and visit? After everything?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “My girls are innocent; they will not suffer because of their mother’s stupidity. At this point in their lives, they need her presence.”

Jesus! My gender oh!

Lord, how? How can a human heart hold this much grace? If this was a Nollywood movie, by now there would be shouting, poison, or at least one spiritual battle with thunder and lightning. But here was a man carrying betrayal with the calmness of morning coffee.

“Where was this man when I was looking for a husband?” I muttered. “Why do the bad women get the good men, Lord? It’s not fair!” (By the way Lord, don’t let my Adam read this, abeg)

He laughed when I asked if his wife was now living with the “heir-seeker.”

“No. The man has his own family. He just wanted the boy.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “But in Igbo land, that child would still be yours. She’s still legally your wife.”

“What’s the use of fighting over what was never mine?” he said gently. The divorce is final, she has her life, I have mine. But we have children that we brought into this world together and we owe them peace and stability”.

“Do you have sisters? Is your mum still alive?” (This man must be an orphan)

“Mum is dead, and I have two sisters”, he replied with a smile

“And …… Why don’t you give your sisters the girls to take care of?” Why tolerate her intervention?”

“We are doing well alone. They just need to see their mum from time to time to get a sense of her love. Even if we are not together, she loves her children and she treats them well. The girls also deserve a life with their mum despite our difference”, he said gallantly

“Are you whining me?”. Lord, I nearly screamed. If this man was my brother, I would have mobilized every-every immediately to rain holy fire on this woman. Yet, here he was, full of grace. What kind of woman was this who was willing to throw this man under the bus just for a fling? What is wrong with our gender, biko? What did the devil put inside that apple he gave Eve?

(Dad, stop laughing, it’s not even funny)

I looked at his daughter again. She was sweet, innocent, untainted. And in that moment, Lord, I understood: this man had chosen peace to protect her innocence. He had laid down his pride, his anger, his right to vengeance, all so his child could grow up whole.

“Would you remarry?” I asked.

He laughed. “Would you marry me?”

I burst into laughter too. “I have some sisters and cousins that would treat you well,” I teased.

But he shook his head. “No. I’m marked for life. I won’t marry again.” His voice carried finality, but not bitterness. Just acceptance.

Dear Lord, as I sat there, I realized this was not a random hospital encounter. This was You, sending me a living parable.

Because what is forgiveness, if not divine? What is mercy, if not godly? This man embodied it. His life screamed what the Bible whispers: “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, says the Lord.”

And in this, You showed me, Lord, that humanity still carries sparks of You. Even in betrayal, kindness can exist. Even in heartbreak, laughter can survive. Even in deep wounds, Your hand can keep someone whole.

I left that waiting room changed.

Thank You for reminding me that the measure of a person is not in what happens to them, but in how they choose to respond. Thank You for showing me that true strength is not in retaliation, but in restraint. Thank You for proving that Your hand still moves quietly through ordinary people in extraordinary ways.

And Lord, one more thing: if You’re still distributing men like him, please remember my sisters. And I took his number, just in case he changes his mind about marriage. I will keep an eye on him for someone in my family. I promise you that they will NEVER

hurt a man like that.

This is your daughter, and I am checking.