11/07/2025
https://chat.whatsapp.com/FlVFutHHlQHK9tWo5mHMgg
*Echoes of Betrayal*
By Charity Nyoni
*Chapter Three: The Third Woman*
Miriam knew the third woman before she had a name.
She had seen her once—months ago—at a church outreach in Soweto. A quiet figure among the volunteers, headscarf tied tightly, smile soft but cautious. There had been something familiar about her, something that tugged at Miriam’s memory but refused to introduce itself.
It wasn't until a Friday evening, when Elias left his phone unattended during worship rehearsal, that the memory finally stood up and said its name.
The screen lit up:
Ayanda ❤️
“Thank you for today, Eli. I never imagined I’d laugh again. You always knew how to make me feel like I mattered.”
Miriam froze.
Ayanda.
His university girlfriend. The one before her.
The one he said broke him.
The one he once said he would have married… “if life had gone differently.”
She scrolled up—only briefly. The messages weren’t graphic. No photos. No declarations of love.
But there was emotional nakedness. Shared jokes. “Do you remember when…” messages. Compliments. Healing wounds neither had any business reopening.
Elias came out of the bathroom, humming a worship song, wiping his hands. He didn’t notice the way she stood still, like a woman who had stepped on a landmine.
She didn’t say anything.
Not then.
That night, she tossed and turned beside him, wondering how many versions of her husband were walking freely in the world—unrepentant, untethered, pretending to be faithful while secretly practicing infidelity of the heart.
Three women.
Three betrayals.
None of them physical—at least not confirmed.
But Miriam didn’t need proof of bodies.
She had evidence in the distance, the secrecy, the subtle shifts of affection.
And worst of all, she had lost him while still sharing the same bed.
At dawn, she knelt beside their bed. No Bible. No notebook. Just tears.
“God,” she whispered, “this is too much. I have loved him faithfully. I have forgiven what I should have confronted. I have stayed silent where I should’ve screamed. And now I am expected to sit in church, worship You, while they sit in front of me with glowing faces and hearts turned toward my husband?”
She wept harder.
“I am not Jesus. I cannot carry all this.”
Silence.
Then, in the depths of her anguish, a single verse drifted through her memory:
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18
She clung to that verse like a rope thrown into deep waters.
That Sunday, she stood at the church door, greeting members with her usual grace. The choir sang. The pastor preached. Miriam’s heart stayed quiet.
During altar call, Ayanda walked forward—again. She was crying. The pastor’s wife laid hands on her, praying for restoration, healing, breakthrough.
Miriam watched.
Then something unexpected happened.
Ayanda turned around, locked eyes with her, and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
It was subtle. No one else saw it. But it shook Miriam to her core.
Not because it fixed anything.
But because it reminded her that God was still present.
Even in the same building where her pain lived.
That evening, Elias found her in the garden again.
He sat beside her without invitation. Said nothing for a long time.
Then, softly: “I think I’ve been trying to find pieces of myself in women who remind me of who I used to be.”
Miriam looked at him. Not angry. Not surprised.
“I don’t know what I want anymore,” he admitted.
“I know,” she said. “But I do. I want to be whole. I want to serve God without bitterness. I want to raise our children in a house where truth isn’t buried under sermons.”
Silence.
Then she added, “And I want you to choose. Fully. Not emotionally. Not spiritually. But faithfully.”
He nodded, slowly. “I don’t know if I can.”
“I know,” she said again. “But I can.”
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