My boyfriend is a pastor. A man of God who lifts his hands to the heavens and asks God to heal the sick, and the sick either heal that instant or it takes time, but it happens. When he is on the pulpit speaking, you have no other choice than to stand on your feet with your notes in your hands, writing down that word of wisdom, because that is the wisdom of knowledge. So powerful.

We should have been married by now, but the only problem, the reason we cannot, is because he is a married man. He has a happy wife and children, and a beautiful home, to the glorification of God. In his church, if they could, his legs would never touch the ground. They adore him.

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We have been dating for four years now, and we have been doing well, so far. Four years is not easy, but we have persevered through it all. Even as the other woman, on the other side of the other side, he treats me well. Very well. He respects me, and he apologizes when he is wrong. We can be on the phone from morning until evening. He tells me, “If I was not a pastor, you would be my second wife.” I wish the same, too. Because it is only the covenant between him and God that is stopping him from marrying me, his love.

We have not had sex yet. His reason is that it would mean he is cheating on his wife, and he does not want to cross that line. However, he is open to doing a lot of things with me, naughty things to be precise, whenever we get the chance; in his office, his car. I like this man so much. And he loves me too, very much, and it is evident in the things he does for me.

Although he is not always with me because of his family and pastoral duties, we made the best of the situation by spending time on the phone. And whenever we get to see each other in person, we milk every wonderful moment we can get out of it.

Like last week. Only that I went to his office for a good time and returned with a breaking heart. Father’s Day is coming soon. I have been planning to gift him something nice, and loud, for a man who has been not only my lover but my father in Christ too. I could not think of anything for a man who seems to have everything. He said he wanted money for his day, and it pricked me a little. Like I mentioned earlier, he seems financially sound, so what did he want money for? “What do you need the money for?” He didn’t want to say. Men have a terrible ego, they would rather it kills them than ask for money, but it didn’t stop him from pushing further.

It turns out, he has gotten another lady pregnant. The lady’s family, since understanding that he is well-to-do and a famous man of God, have decided to milk him dry of his money. They are asking for an enormous amount of 2.5 billion cedis. Not million, or thousand. Billion. He has paid the money, too. He said he has no choice, because they threatened him: it is either he pays, or they will bring the matter online and disgrace him, destroy the church, and his family too.

If I had any doubts about where I stood in his life, that day made it clear and loud that I was not as special as I thought I was to him. I cannot count the number of things I have turned down, the many proposals, because of him. And now this.

Men Don’t Like It When Women Do The Paying

I have cried a river for him. A whole, deep, raging river. But there is still more left in me. An ocean of pain I haven’t even touched yet. I am broken, not because of the money he paid. Let him spend his billions. I am broken because I feel betrayed, used, and disrespected in a way that has stripped my soul naked. He kept me in a glass box marked “special” while he was out there planting his life in another woman’s womb. Do I have a point to be angry? Do I have a right to scream until my throat tears? Or am I overreacting? Please, please help me. My heart is bleeding, and I don’t know how to stop it.

—Corny
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