“Is this how much your body is worth, Chinelo? Two months’ rent?”

​My husband, Monday, stood in the middle of our tiny room holding a crumpled envelope. His eyes were red. He wasn’t crying. He was shaking. He found the money hidden inside my Bible bag.

​The room felt hot. Outside, our neighbors in the face-me-I-face-you yard were shouting. But inside, it was silent as a graveyard.

​“Answer me!” Monday roared. He threw the envelope at my face. The notes scattered on the floor like dead leaves.

​“Monday, listen to me,” I whispered. I tried to touch his hand, but he jumped back as if I were a snake.

​“Listen to what? That while I was walking the streets of Lagos looking for a driving job, you were opening your legs for Alhaji?”

​I couldn’t look him in the eye. Alhaji is seventy years old. He has three wives and a stomach that looks like a bag of cement. He is the owner of this building. He is also the man who told us last month that if we didn’t pay our arrears, our clothes would be thrown into the gutter.

​Monday had nothing. No job. No family to help. I am a primary school teacher, and my salary cannot even buy a bag of rice.

​“He was going to throw us out, Monday,” I cried. “Your mother is sick in the village. If we lose this room, where will we go? Sleep under the bridge?”

​“So you decided to help me by sleeping with that old man?” Monday laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “You think you are a hero? You are just a common harlot.”

​The word hit me like a slap. I have cooked for this man. I have patched his trousers. I have stayed hungry so he could eat the last bit of garri.

​“I did it for us!” I screamed back. “While you were out drinking ogogoro with your friends because you were ‘depressed,’ I was the one facing Alhaji. I was the one begging him. He said it was the only way!”

​Monday grabbed his small bag. He started throwing his two shirts inside.

​“Where are you going?” I asked, panic rising in my chest.

​“Away from this house of sin,” he said. “Keep your rent money. Keep your Alhaji. I hope it was worth it.”

​He walked to the door, but he stopped. He looked at me with so much hate it made my skin cold.

​“But before I go, Chinelo, there is something you should know. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you today.”

​He pulled a folded paper from his pocket. It was an employment letter. A big construction company had hired him as a senior driver. The salary was three times what we needed. He had the money to pay the rent all along.

​“I came home to tell you we are moving to a flat in Lekki,” he said quietly. “But now, I am going there alone.”

​As he turned to leave, a heavy knock sounded on the door. It wasn’t the police. It wasn’t a neighbor.

​It was Alhaji’s first wife, Mama Jibril. She was holding a pregnancy test strip in her hand, and her face was full of fire.

​“Chinelo!” she screamed so the whole yard could hear. “I found your earrings in my husband’s bedroom this morning. But that is not why I am here. My husband is sterile. He cannot have children. So tell me… whose baby are you carrying?”

​I froze. My hand went to my stomach. I hadn’t even told Monday I was late.

​Monday turned around, his eyes wide. The whole yard went silent.

The yard was full of people now. Mama Jibril was clapping her hands, calling me names. The neighbors were peeping through their windows, whispering.

​Monday looked at me, then at my stomach, then at the employment letter in his hand.

​“Is it true?” he asked. His voice was very low. “Are you pregnant?”

​“Yes,” I choked out.

​“But Alhaji cannot father a child,” Mama Jibril shouted, pointing her finger at me. “He had an accident years ago. We all know this in the family. So, Chinelo, if you have been sleeping with my husband for rent, who else have you been sleeping with to get this belly?”

​The crowd gasped. I saw my neighbor, Mama Chuka, shaking her head. “Ah-ah, Chinelo. We thought you were a church worker. This world is wicked.”

​Monday walked back into the room. He closed the door, shutting out the noise of the crowd. He looked at me for a long time.

​“The baby is mine, isn’t it?” he asked.

​“Of course it is yours!” I sobbed. “I only started seeing Alhaji three weeks ago because the deadline was coming. I’ve been pregnant for two months. I wanted to tell you, but you were so sad about being jobless. I didn’t want to add to your hair.”

​Monday sat on the edge of the bed. He looked defeated. The joy of his new job was gone.

​“You cheated to save a roof over our heads,” he said. “But I finally got the job to give us a better life. If you had waited just one more week, Chinelo. Just one week.”

​“How was I supposed to know?” I yelled. “We were eating once a day! I did a bad thing for a good reason. Does that make me a bad woman?”

​“It makes you a woman I don’t recognize,” Monday said.

​He stood up. He took the envelope of rent money from the floor. He walked to the window and threw it out into the yard. We heard the neighbors scrambling and fighting for the notes.

​“I have the job now,” Monday said. “I can pay for a lawyer. I can pay for a new house. I can pay for everything.”

​“Then let’s go,” I said, reaching for my bag. “Let’s leave this place and start over. For the sake of the baby.”

​Monday looked at the door, then back at me.

​“I will take care of the baby,” he said. “I will send money every month. I will pay for the best hospitals. But I cannot look at you without seeing Alhaji’s face. I cannot touch you without thinking of how you paid for this room.”

​“So you are leaving me?” I asked. “After I sacrificed my dignity so you wouldn’t sleep in the street?”

​“You didn’t trust me,” he replied. “You didn’t trust that God would provide. You took the easy way out and called it a sacrifice. A marriage without trust is just a contract.”

​He opened the door. Mama Jibril was still outside, waiting to cause more trouble. Monday walked past her without a word. He didn’t look back.

​I stood in the center of the room. I am pregnant. I have no husband. The whole yard thinks I am a thief and a harlot.

​But as I looked at the empty space where Monday’s bag used to be, I felt a strange coldness. He was happy to leave me now that he had money. When he was poor, he ate my food and used my light. Now that he is a “Big Man,” his pride is suddenly too heavy to carry.

​I walked to the door and shouted after him.

​“Go! Go to your big house! But remember, you are only successful today because I kept a roof over your head while you were a nobody! Who is the real sinner here? The woman who sinned to save her family, or the man who used her until he didn’t need her anymore?”

​Monday kept walking. The neighbors started arguing. Some said I was right. Some said I was a devil.

​What do you think? Was I wrong to save my home, or is Monday a hypocrite for leaving me now that he is rich?