Confessions of a 19 Year Old: My MOTHER’S Best FRIEND Is Carrying My CHILD
I am nineteen, and I never imagined my life would fall into a story like this. It involves my mother’s closest friend, the woman everyone calls Auntie Lydia. She has been part of my life since childhood, almost like family, but never quite. She is older, respected, and trusted by my mother beyond question. To me, she was always more than that—beautiful, confident, and sometimes careless in ways that stirred things in me I did not fully understand.
It started long before that night. I noticed the way she looked at me sometimes, her eyes holding mine longer than they should. There were jokes she would make, the kind that carried double meaning, the kind that made me laugh nervously but left my mind restless afterwards. At times, she would call me into her room while she was half-dressed, asking me to fetch something for her. I would tell myself it was innocent, but inside I knew it wasn’t. I desired her, though I buried it in silence.
Then my mother travelled to Kumasi for a funeral, and Auntie Lydia stayed behind to check on me. That night, sitting on the porch, under the weak light, she asked me about girls, about whether I had anyone. I laughed it off, but the silence between us thickened. Then her hand touched mine. I should have pulled away, but I didn’t. She whispered, “Are you shy? Come closer” She leaned in, and I met her halfway. She kissed me, it felt electric, we kissed for what seemed like an eternity, she only had on a wrapper and a loose blouse, as the kissing intensified and it was clear to both of us that we were too heated to stop, she pushed me back, unbuckled my trousers, and then she gave me oral sex.
At some point, I felt what was happening was wrong, but at this point, I was driven by sexual passion that I couldn’t even process my thoughts properly. She came back up, took off her blouse, and sat on me; we went on with this the whole night.
Waking up in the morning next to a woman whom I was considered a mother figure, I had mixed feelings, on one hand I was ashamed, too shy to face her and on the other hand I was proud I did it, Auntie Lydia was a very beautiful woman, who most of the guys around either asked out or tried to, and here she was in my arms.
From that night, it was no longer a secret attraction. It became something real, something dangerous. We both knew it was taboo, but neither of us stopped. I found myself initiating sex as much as she did. What began as a hit of the moment matter turned into an affair. When she saw me talking to girls my age, she would grow cold, jealous, and sometimes scolding me like I belonged to her. And the strange part is, I liked it. It felt like we were in something deeper than lust—it felt like a twisted kind of love.
Then came the news. Auntie Lydia told me she was pregnant. My heart stopped. I begged her to consider an abortion, but she refused. She told me she had been unlucky in marriage, that age was no longer on her side, and that this child might be her only chance to be a mother. She looked me in the eyes and said she would not let go of this baby.
Now I am trapped. My mother suspects nothing, but how long can this last? If she finds out, it will destroy her. Her trust, her friendship, her heart. And me—I am only nineteen. I have no job, no money, no plan. How can I become a father in this shameful way?
Yet Auntie Lydia speaks of keeping the child with a kind of fierce joy. To her, this pregnancy is a gift. To me, it feels like the walls of my life are closing in.
I know this story sounds like madness, but it is my life. I wanted her, she wanted me, and now we are both caught in something we cannot undo.
So I ask you, the reader: what should I do? Should I confess to my mother and tear apart everything she holds dear? Should I accept this fate and become a father before my time? Or should I run from it all and let the shame swallow me?
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