I stopped wearing pánts to bed at night the day my husband’s father visited my house, because of their tradition, but the moment he started pẹeping under my sklrt at the dining table, I knew that this was more than tradition.
“My father is the head of the house and we must obey him,” my husband said. “Any time he visits, we must show him that we have nothing to hide; this is our tradition for peace and long life.”
I was in disbelief, thought my husband was joking but there was not a single smile on his face.
“Honey, how can I stay without wearing pánts? What sort of tradition is this?” I asked, disgusted.
“My love, this is a golden rule in our family that must be passed down from generation to generation.”
At that point I was confused, so many questions were running through my mind.
What sort of tradition was that? In fact, how would his father even know if I truly wear a pánt or not?
But I never knew what was coming…
I wanted to be a good wife, so I obeyed the words of my husband. Besides, his father would be staying for only a week.
So, there I was, sitting at dinner in a loose gown, feeIing ẹxposed and nervous when suddenly something shocking happened that stunned me to my bone marrow.
My husband’s father sat directly opposite me but the man kept on dropping his napkin to the ground and every time he bent down to pick it, his eyes would go straight in between my Iegs.
At first I thought it was a mistake, but the moment it happened five good times I knew that something was wrong.
I looked at my husband– Gabriel, but he was busy eating, he didn’t even notice how his father’s eyes were wandering.
“Is the food not good, sir?” I asked, my voice shaking.