24/06/2025
I was only 20 when I met him.
He had this gentle smile that made you forget your problems. Tall, with kind eyes and a voice that could calm a storm. We met in church. I was in the choir, and he played the keyboard. I still remember the day we first talked—after rehearsal, he came up to me and said, “You sing like an angel.”
I blushed. No one had ever said that to me before. From that moment, we started talking more. He would wait for me after church service, walk me to the bus stop, and message me goodnight every night. Before I knew it, I was falling in love.
He was five years older, but I didn’t mind. He seemed mature, focused, and full of dreams. We talked about everything—our childhood, our families, our future. He told me, “I don’t want to waste your time. I see you as my wife.”
Those words stayed in my heart.
So when he asked me to move in with him after a year of dating, I said yes. My parents weren’t too happy, but I told them, “We’re getting married soon anyway.” They warned me to be careful, but I believed in love. I believed in him.
Living together felt like a dream at first. We cooked together, prayed together, and planned together. He would say things like, “When we have our first baby…” or “At our wedding, I want us to wear matching white.” He made me believe I was his forever.
I asked once, “When do you think we’ll do the introduction?”
He smiled and said, “Soon. Let me just settle some things first.”
I trusted him. I waited.
One year passed. Then two. Then almost three.
Every time I brought up marriage, he’d say, “Baby, don’t rush. We’re already living like a couple.”
But something started to change.
He became distant. Always on his phone. Always working late. Some nights, he’d come back smelling like perfume that wasn’t mine. But when I asked questions, he’d get angry.
“Don’t you trust me?” he’d say.
I wanted to. I really did. But my heart was no longer at peace.
Then one afternoon, everything changed.
I was scrolling through Facebook when I saw a photo—him, wearing a cream agbada, smiling beside a woman I didn’t know. The caption said,
> “Congratulations to the latest couple in town!”
My hands started shaking. I thought it was a mistake.
I clicked on the picture. More photos followed. Traditional marriage. Family. Laughter.
He was getting married. And it wasn’t to me.
I called his number. It didn’t go through. I messaged him. No reply. Within hours, I was blocked on WhatsApp, Facebook, and Instagram.
That night, I sat alone in the room we once shared, staring at the wall.
How could someone I loved so deeply, someone who held me every night, suddenly erase me from his life like I never existed?
The days that followed were the hardest. I didn’t eat. I barely spoke. I felt like I had fainted but my body was still moving.
People said, “Move on. He’s not worth it.” But how do you forget someone you built a future with?
One evening, while packing up my things to leave his apartment, I found a small notebook under the bed. It was mine. I used to write in it when we first moved in.
I flipped to a page where I wrote:
> “Dear future me, if this man ever breaks your heart, don’t let it break your soul. Remember who you are before you met him.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
That was the moment I decided I would not let this be the end of my story.
I moved back home. I started healing slowly. I picked up new hobbies, joined a Bible study group, and began singing again—not for anyone else, but for myself. I took time to remember the girl I used to be before love blinded me.
It wasn’t easy. Some nights I still cried. Some memories still hurt. But every morning, I got stronger.
One day, after church, a little girl came to me and said, “You sing beautifully. You made me happy.”
That was the first time in a long while that I smiled and truly meant it.
Now, I’m 25. I’m not in a relationship. But I am finally in love—with myself, with my growth, and with the peace I feel every day. I’m not bitter anymore.
I know that man didn’t marry me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worthy of love. It only means he wasn’t the one for me.
He promised me forever—but forever is not something you promise. It’s something you live.
Olayinka Grace Moreblessing
