In the middle of 2024, I met a man who wanted to marry me as quickly as possible. Because of terrible experiences with men that had altered my heart, I immediately raised a shield and gave him an excuse. “Let’s know each other first, let’s see where it goes,” it was a plan to drive him away but he stayed.

A year ago, when I was sure he wasn’t a rebound, I held his hand and took him home to see my parents. This time I was sure. This time I was certain that I was not going to be alone for the rest of my life. I also went to meet his parents. Because we were both sure of the road we were traveling on, we were quick to hasten the planning process.

We started looking for wedding planners, vendors, the whole outfit. We visited the hospital for genetic tests, and afterwards, we went to see the pastor for counseling.

That was where our problems started. If anyone had told me, I would have braced myself for the kind of searing and aching conversations that went on there. I would have pleaded that we skipped that part and went straight to the part where we say our vows and kiss.

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Even though we had our own hard conversations in private, they were nothing compared to what went down there. Every time we came home, it left questions in my being. I saw that it left him questioning himself too, wondering whether we were on the right path or one of self destruction.

On one of those days after counseling, he asked me, “Have you… you know?” He wasn’t exactly looking at me when he asked if I had terminated a pregnancy before.

I wanted to lie, but I didn’t want to start our journey on a terrible deception. I told him. I told him about the time I fell pregnant for a man who promised me heaven and earth only to give me crumbs. When I realized I didn’t want any ties with that man, I terminated the pregnancy.

It has always haunted me. I have always asked myself the question: What if? What if he was the next president? What if he was the person to change the dynamics of the world? Other times, I took comfort in the what ifs of him becoming a thief or a terrible addition to society.

But on most days, I felt distressed. I judged myself so harshly that it shouldn’t have shocked me when my soon to be husband called me a “murderer.” He said it over and over again.

The next morning when he called, it was to tell me he was canceling the wedding. That was the last I heard of him. My calls and messages do not go through. He is neither at home nor at work.

For now, he hasn’t told anyone why the marriage is off, so they are all asking questions. Friends who saw us together are asking what happened. Family is demanding to know why. He has gone into hiding, vanished, and I am left to cancel the dates and plans with every vendor down to the pastors. Everything is hanging on my shoulders. It is not enough that I have to look in the mirror to dress up; every time I do, I feel like crashing my head into it and hurting myself.

For once, I thought God gave me love, only for it to be snatched from my hands as if I had stolen it from someone else.

I know I made one terrible mistake. I lived with it for years before he came into my life. Didn’t he think I had to deal with it? Didn’t he think it disturbed me too? I was honest, and that was my sin.

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Some days I relive the morning I woke up and went to the hospital. Some days I wake up to terrible dreams of children following me. Some days I sleep and wake up tired, as if I were carrying the whole world’s troubles. Some days I see him in my dreams, and sometimes I don’t. Some days, I ask myself: Who sent me to tell the truth?

—Takie

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