When I met Eric three years ago, he was everything I thought I wanted. Smart, soft-spoken, and ambitious. We built a life slowly through laughter, dates, and long calls that made sleep feel unnecessary. I knew I’d found my person.

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Then I caught him cheating. It was a message on his phone. The kind you don’t even need context to understand. A woman telling him she missed “how he held her,” and asking when they would do those things again. My heart cracked loudly. I confronted him, eyes burning with betrayal, and he didn’t even lie well. He just sighed, held me, and said he messed up and that I should forgive him. He promised it was the last time, and I believed him, or maybe I wanted to believe him so badly that believing him felt like the easier choice.

I forgave him because love makes you think forgiveness can fix what disrespect broke. A few weeks later, I found messages again. Same girl and same nonsense. This time, worse—graphic descriptions of things they had done, things he wanted to do again, and things I never knew he even liked. I confronted him again. Through tears, I asked him, “Why are you doing this to me? What is it about that girl you can’t leave? What does she do for you that I don’t?”

He didn’t answer that question. He just promised again that it wouldn’t happen. Another worthless apology. Another “I swear it’s the last time.” I stayed. I didn’t believe him, but I felt I had nowhere to go. I was broken, fragile, and insecure, but I stayed because I believed it rained everywhere, so it was better I walked with an umbrella than jump ships thinking it doesn’t rain at this new place.

I thought three years is not something you throw away just like that. I blamed myself, thinking that maybe I was not giving enough. I thought if I tried harder, he would change. But months later, I caught him again. Same girl. Same pattern. Same betrayal.

Except this time, he didn’t pretend or try to apologize. He didn’t beg. He didn’t even hide behind sorry words anymore. He looked me in the eyes and went for the kill: “Can’t you see I can’t leave her? I’m a polygamist. I will marry you and marry her too. If you can, then fine.”

He said it with so much confidence, as if he expected me to clap. As if my heart was a spare tire he could carry in the trunk of his emotional pickup. As if loving him meant sharing him. I told myself I would leave, but leaving a relationship is not the same as walking out of a room. It’s walking out of memories, dreams, routines, promises, plans, intimacy, and comfort. So I stayed longer than I should have, not because I accepted his madness, but because walking away from three years felt like ripping skin from bone. I did all that because I had this tiny hope that he would see how I loved him and change his heart, but no, he didn’t change. He simply stopped hiding his true colors.

He started posting the girl publicly. Boldly. Calling her sweet names, things he had never done for me online. The insult was surgical, I swear. That was the day something inside me snapped. I realized I was holding on to a man who had already let go of me long ago.

So I left properly this time. It was painful, but I did. I blocked him. Cried myself to sleep for weeks. Tried to heal and tried to forget.
And just when I was beginning to breathe again, Eric returned. He came to my door smelling like regret and desperation.
He said the most unbelievable thing I’ve ever heard: “Serwaa, she used juju on me. That’s why I couldn’t leave her. But the juju has faded. It was never me. I love only you, and I can prove it. We can marry as soon as you want.”

Juju? Juju kept him on Facebook posting another woman? Juju made him tell me he was a polygamist? I should have laughed. But instead, I froze. Because part of me, the foolish part, wanted to believe him again. That part of me wanted us back.

But the wiser part of me whispered:

“Serwaa, love does not excuse humiliation.”
“A man who wants you will not parade another woman.”
“If he truly loved you, juju wouldn’t be strong enough.”

Now I’m standing in the middle of two roads, one leading back to the man who broke me and the other leading forward to a future I can’t see clearly yet. He says he’s ready to marry me immediately. That he was trapped and was not himself. That he was bewitched.

My heart remembers everything; the tears, the betrayal, the humiliation. Everything. I don’t know if going back means closing my wounds or reopening them. I also don’t know if forgiving him again means reclaiming love or surrendering my sanity.

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I’m honestly tired and afraid of choosing wrong again. Maybe someone reading this has been here before, or someone here understands this kind of heartbreak. Please, tell me honestly, what do I do? Do I accept him back and hope this time is truly different? Or do I walk away for good before love finishes me completely? I need clarity. I need the truth.

I don’t even know if I’m sharing this because I need advice, or because I need someone to tell me I’m not crazy, or maybe because I simply need to hear my own pain out loud. Is there anybody out there? Please help me.

—Serwaa

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