Cameroon timber
When I first saw him, I whispered to myself, “Some women really do have strange taste,” and moved on with my day.
I wasn’t expecting anything. It was just a formal introduction at work. But for some reason, my mind kept racing to him. I found myself wondering what his wife saw in him. He wasn’t conventionally attractive. Lanky and tall, with old-school features and mannerisms. Not the kind of man you’d expect someone to risk it all for. I ended the unnecessary mental quiz right there.
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Later, I learnt his name was Kwame. He was a key member of our team, and his contributions in meetings began to shift my perception. He was sharp, thoughtful, and quietly confident. We worked closely together and built a solid professional relationship. Over time, we became hugging buddies. The stress of our work led us to offer each other comforting hugs when things got overwhelming. Eventually, hugs became a regular part of our interactions. It wasn’t just about fatigue anymore.
It was innocent at first. I had no intentions. He wasn’t my type physically. And yes, I’m also married.
One evening, after a late close at work, we found ourselves alone in the elevator. He leaned in for a hug and then, unexpectedly, kissed me. I was caught off guard. It was brief, but he apologised immediately. We went our separate ways.
I’ve always said I would never date a married man. Not even when I was single. But life happened. “Can never be me” slowly became my reality.
Kwame and I have been entangled for six years. What changed? The connection. The chemistry. The emotional depth. And yes, the physical intimacy. It was unlike anything I had known. We found ourselves drawn to each other in ways that defied logic. It wasn’t about money. We both earn well. It was about something deeper. Something we couldn’t name but couldn’t resist.
Our respective marriages will be ten and fifteen years old this December. And yet, our feelings for each other keep growing. We’ve tried everything to end it. We even stayed apart for over a year—from February 2024 to May 2025. We worked professionally, kept our distance, and avoided physical contact. But it all crumbled during a work trip outside Ghana. He spent the night in my room, and it felt like we were making up for lost time. And just like that, we were back to square one.
Recently, he said something that jolted me. “AK, do you realise I’ve been with you more in the past three years than I’ve been with my wife of fourteen?” As blunt as it was, it struck a chord. Because I could say the same about my husband. He’s emotionally distant. Intimacy feels like a chore rather. There are no hugs, no affection, no connection.
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Kwame, for all his flaws, filled a gap I didn’t even know I had.
But where do we go from here? This path isn’t sustainable. I know I need to walk away. But it’s complicated. We work together. I can’t block his number or avoid him completely. Resigning isn’t an option. Being around him every day makes detachment feel almost impossible.
So I’m reaching out. I need help. Real, practical advice on how to end this quietly but firmly. How do I reclaim my emotions and my space when the temptation is always right in front of me? I want to be free from this cycle, but I don’t know where to begin.
I need a detox plan. A “bedianko” kind of reset.
—AK
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