There is a saying that goes, “you can’t keep a man who doesn’t want to be kept.” That’s a fundamental truth, but it doesn’t apply to men alone.
I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. My name is Ali. I’m a father, a husband, or maybe just a husband on paper now. Sometimes I feel like a ghost in my own house.
When Clara and I got married, I thought I’d won life’s biggest lottery. She was always ambitious, beautiful, the kind of woman who makes every room she walks into brighter because of her presence.
She had dreams of gold and diamonds — literally. She started small, selling handmade jewelry from a tiny stall at a weekend market. I remember staying up with her past midnight, helping her pack tiny boxes with velvet cushions inside. We would laugh at the mistakees. We’d dream of the day we’d open our first store.
That day came. And then, another store. Then an online shop that blew up because Clara is brilliant at what she does — when Clara wants something, she gets it. But somewhere in that race for more, she forgot something. Or maybe she forgot someone.
At first, it was just long hours. She’d come home late, smelling like new metal and glass cases. She’d collapse on the couch, phone still glued to her ear. Sometimes she’d nod at me. Sometimes she’d fall asleep mid-sentence. I’d cover her with a blanket and carry our daughter, Aisha, to bed myself.
I didn’t mind. I was proud. “That’s my wife, I’d tell my friends. She’s a powerhouse.”
But a house can only stand strong if all its beams are solid. And somewhere along the way, ours started to splinter.
When Aisha turned seven, she asked me why Mama never came to her ballet recitals and end of year parties. I didn’t have an answer. So I tried to talk to Clara.
“Babe, maybe slow down a bit? We miss you,” I’d say, my voice gentle, my hands on hers.
She’d pull away like my touch was fire. “Don’t you want me to succeed? Or would you rather I sit here wasting my skills? Do you think I’m like those women who wait for their husband’s paycheck?”
That stung. I’ve never wanted her to sit idle. I just wanted her present with me, with Aisha.
I read about HelloMom one late night when Aisha fell asleep on my chest, waiting for her mom to come home. It sounded like magic — a platform to help women like Clara grow their online businesses without losing themselves. Tools to manage digital businesses, stores, marketing, ad management, all in one place. A team of assistants supporting working mothers, learning how to balance the grind with work and family responsibilities.
I told Clara about it over breakfast. She didn’t look up from her laptop. She only lifted her head when I said the word balance.
“So you think I can’t handle it? You think I need some mom group to tell me how to run what I built with my own sweat?”
I tried to explain. “It’s not about that. It’s about time. Time for you, time for us. Aisha needs you. I need you too.”
She slammed her mug down so hard the tea splashed onto her silk blouse. “You’re just intimidated. You want to slow me down because you can’t keep up.”
That was two years ago. Since then, it’s like there’s a wall between us. I sleep beside her, but it feels like I’m on the other side of the city.
Aisha tries so hard to glue us back together. She draws pictures — always three stick figures, holding hands under a yellow sun. I stick them to the fridge. Clara barely notices, and if she does, she never shows it.
Last week, we argued again. I didn’t shout. I never shout. But she did. She said I was trying to control her. That I wanted her to submit. Like she was a project to be managed.
I looked at her and wondered if she even saw me anymore. Or if I was just a coat rack, something to hang her excuses and guilt on when it suited her.
Yesterday was her turn to pick Aisha from school. Clara promised, she even pinky-swore with Aisha before she ran off for another meeting. I had a job interview at the other end of town.
I was halfway through my presentation when my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Unknown number. I ignored it twice. Third time, I stepped outside.
It was the school.
The world spins fast when you get news like that. Aisha had tried to walk home by herself after waiting in the rain. She stepped off the curb too soon. A car hit her and the driver rushed her to the nearest hospital.
****
By the time I got to the hospital, Clara was already there. Her mascara was ruined. Her hands shook violently as she pressed them to our daughter’s small fingers.
Aisha survived. By a miracle, she survived. A bump on her head, a broken arm, a gash that needed too many stitches — but alive. Alive.
Clara wept into my chest. I held her even though I didn’t know how I felt. Relief and anger mixed in my veins like oil and water.
When we brought Aisha home, Clara didn’t go back to the store. She sat by Aisha’s bed, holding her good hand, brushing her hair off her forehead. She didn’t pick up her phone once.
She found me in the kitchen later that night. Her voice was hoarse.
“I see it now, Ali. I see what you were trying to say. I thought I was working for us, for her. But what good is gold if I lose her?”
I looked at her —my Clara, my stubborn, beautiful Clara— and for the first time in two years, I was short oof words, I couldn’t find a word to describe her discovery.
She told me she wanted to try HelloMom. She said she wanted help, wanted to learn how to build her dream and keep her family.
She said she wanted us back.
But me? I don’t know anymore. I’ve watched this marriage fall apart while holding the reigns with blistered hands. I’ve patched it with apologies, prayers, and drawings on the fridge. But some cracks don’t hold water.
Aisha woke up crying last night. She called for Mama. Clara ran to her side. I watched from the doorway, the moonlight catching the edge of Clara’s tears as she sang Aisha back to sleep.
I wanted to join them. I wanted to step back into that soft circle of warmth. But my feet wouldn’t move.
There’s a saying that goes, “You can’t keep a man who doesn’t want to be kept.” But here’s the truth: You can’t keep a family that doesn’t’m want to hold itself together.
Tomorrow, Clara will sit with me. She’ll ask me if I still believe in us. She’ll ask if we can try again, even with HelloMom this time. With fresh eyes.
I don’t know what I’ll say.
Maybe I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll pack my bag. Maybe I’ll stand in the hallway and look at my daughter’s drawings on the fridge and wonder if that is reason enough to keep fighting.
One thing I know for sure is that no dream is worth more than the small hand you get to hold at bedtime.
If you’re reading this while building your empire and your children wait at the window, hear me: You don’t have to choose between your dream and your family.
There’s a better way. There’s HelloMom, a place where mothers delegate their business to balance profit with presence, hustle with hugs. A place where no one forgets to pick up what matters most.
Visit at HelloMom today — build your business, grow wealth and hold your family. Don’t let hustle take away your moment.
