“I Mistakenly Impregnated My Wife’s Sister, Now Depressed”

By: Thomas Abidoye

It all started innocently. My wife, Sade, and her younger sister, Yetunde, were always inseparable. Our home was filled with their endless laughter, gossip, and cooking adventures.

I used to joke that they were twins separated by just a few years. Little did I know, one careless moment would bring my world crashing down.

One weekend, Sade traveled for a work conference, leaving Yetunde to stay with us. I thought, “She’s family, no harm there.” But life had other plans. After a long day, Yetunde and I ended up watching Yoruba movies, laughing over bowls of efo riro and amala.

One thing led to another—a long hug, a few too many glasses of palm wine, and that was it. A terrible mistake was made.

Weeks passed, and Yetunde called me aside one afternoon. Her hands trembled as she spoke: “Egbon mi, I’m pregnant.” My heart dropped like a stone into a deep well. Pregnant? I stared at her, hoping it was a bad joke. But the look on her face told me it wasn’t. “Whose?” I whispered, though I already knew the answer. “It’s yours,” she said, tears running down her cheeks.

At first, I denied it to myself. “Maybe she’s wrong,” I thought. But guilt gnawed at me, and sleep became a distant memory. I was caught between shame and fear.

How could I face Sade? I began avoiding everyone, even skipping church on Sundays. My friends, like Tunde and Dayo, noticed my weight loss and constant frown. “Kilode, bros? Wetin happen?” they’d ask, but I couldn’t tell them.

One sleepless night, I found myself Googling “How to confess to your wife that you impregnated her sister.” The answers were either legal advice or horror stories. But one advice stood out from an online counselor: “Honesty, as bitter as it may be, is the first step to healing. Secrets are heavier than truth.” That stuck with me. I knew what I had to do.

Summoning courage, I told Sade everything. The look on her face was indescribable. Shock, betrayal, hurt—it was like watching a beautiful painting shatter. She didn’t speak for minutes. Then, she wept. I thought that was the end.

But a week later, she returned—not to forgive, but to talk. “Why, Seun? How could you?” she asked. I broke down and explained everything, from my carelessness to my depression.

With the help of a counselor from our church, we slowly began piecing our lives back together. We realized our marriage wasn’t perfect, long work hours, poor communication, and unresolved issues made room for such a disaster.

Sade admitted she’d been emotionally distant due to stress. I admitted I failed to set boundaries. We both had lessons to learn. (Impregnated)

As for Yetunde, she decided to keep the baby and raise it on her own. “I’m not here to destroy your marriage,” she told us. Her strength surprised me. We promised to support her as much as we could. She moved out and is doing her best as a single mother. (Impregnated)

Here’s what I’ve learned (Impregnated) from this painful chapter, and what I hope readers will take away:

Set Boundaries Early. No matter how close family is, lines must be drawn to avoid temptation.
Communication is Key. Sade and I ignored issues for too long, and it created a gap for problems to creep in.
Honesty Breaks Chains. It was hard, but telling the truth was the beginning of healing.
Seek Support. Counseling saved our marriage and gave me clarity.
Humor Helps. During one counseling session, Sade joked, “At least now I know your ‘swimmers’ are working!” We laughed for the first time in months.

Today, Sade and I are expecting our second child (together). Yetunde’s baby is healthy, and though our family dynamics will never be the same, we’re stronger and wiser.

If you find yourself in a tangled mess like this, remember: It’s not the end of the world. Face your mistakes, seek help, and don’t lose your sense of humor.