When my boyfriend travelled abroad, I was grieving his absence when Francis appeared out of nowhere and said, “Oh, he’s gone? Then let’s pretend I’m your boyfriend until he comes back.” The way he said it was funny, but because I knew him and his sense of humour, it didn’t surprise me. I replied, “He’s gone for only a year. I think I can survive.”

I didn’t understand what he meant by pretending to be my boyfriend, but within a week or two, it became clear. He started calling early in the morning while still in bed, asking how my night was. He’d say, “As your fake boyfriend, I should know if you slept well.”

At night, he’d be on the phone with me. He asked, “What did he usually say to you on nights like this? I want to say the same thing so you don’t miss a thing.”

I was already talking to my boyfriend every day. Sure, the time difference made it challenging, but I managed. I told Francis, “When it comes to phone conversations, I don’t miss a thing. It’s his presence that’s missing, but I think I can manage that for a year.”

Francis was a banker and also schooling, so he didn’t have much time for social life. If anyone was least likely to offer presence, it was Francis. But something changed when I mentioned missing presence. Gradually, he started showing up for me—subtle at first, but consistent. It took me months to realize he was doing too much for a “fake boyfriend.”

When he went to church, he’d drive to my place early and pick me up. Sometimes I wasn’t ready, but he’d wait. One day, I had no intention of going to church, but he managed to pull me along. Another time, when I refused to go, he sat on the sofa and said, “Honestly, I don’t feel like going either. What are you doing? Let me help you.”

Eventually, his name changed. He wasn’t just Francis anymore—I started calling him “Fake Boyfriend.”

While Francis was always there, my boyfriend began disappearing and reappearing at will. He could go a week without informing me. Then, he’d reappear with long excuses—sometimes about schoolwork, other times about the weather. I loved him too much to complain.

One day, a friend said, “Your man is having fun ooo—new places, new people every day.”

I was confused. I asked what she meant, and she said, “I’ve been seeing his WhatsApp status.”

I hadn’t seen his status for months because I thought he was too busy to post. Turns out, I’d been blocked. When I confronted him about it, he lied and said he hadn’t posted in months. He even called our mutual friend a liar. The next day, he blocked her. And because I asked questions, he ghosted me for weeks.

After his graduation, I asked when he was coming back. It was a simple, harmless question, but he got angry and disappeared for a week. When he returned, he said, “I’m looking for opportunities here. I’m not coming back anytime soon.”

He could’ve stopped there, and I would’ve understood. But he added, “If that’s too much for you, then find someone else.”

After that message, I didn’t hear from him for two months. I was heartbroken but couldn’t cry. Francis noticed. He asked, “What’s wrong with you? You can tell me.”

I told him everything—the troubles in my relationship and how it had come to a halt. I thought he’d console me, but instead, he said, “If the real thing is dead, then should the fake die too?” I managed a weak smile. “You’re crazy. This isn’t the time to joke,” I replied.

Francis stayed by my side as I went through the heartbreak. He didn’t know how to keep me grounded, and I didn’t know how to help myself. Eventually, he stopped coming around for a while. I used his absence to heal.

When he came back, he stopped calling himself “fake” because the real thing was dead. One day, he asked me, “Is there a place for me in your heart?”

I nodded. “Yes. There’s nothing real going on here, so why not?”

“Then let’s get married,” he said.

“Don’t joke with me,” I responded.

Francis was a fake boyfriend for over two years, but he didn’t have time to stay a real boyfriend. Three months later, he was knocking on my family’s door. Three months after that, we got married. Two kids followed in three years. We took a break from having kids so we could enjoy each other.

I Accepted His Proposal When I Hadn’t Met Him Physically

The day after my wedding, I got a message from my ex, who was still abroad. He said, “I knew you were sleeping with him when you couldn’t stop mentioning his name. You see, time has proven me right.”

I responded, “You can’t make me feel guilty from the grave you’re in. Dead men don’t talk.”

I pressed the block button. Ends.

— Casandra

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