I am hurting deeply, painfully, in a way I never imagined love could wound me. This isn’t the kind of pain that comes from misunderstanding or ordinary disappointment. This is the kind that sits with you through the night, tightens your throat, and makes you question everything you thought you knew about someone you planned to spend your life with.

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I met her three years ago in Accra. She was a university student, full of life and promise. I was already working as a Geodetic Engineer with one of the mining companies here in Ghana, focused, stable, and ready to build a future. From the beginning, I was drawn to her. She felt different. She felt warm, intelligent and affectionate. I believed she loved me as deeply as I loved her. Over time, our relationship grew serious. Plans were made. Families were involved. I did the knocking rite. Commitments were made. We agreed that once she completed her graduate studies, we would marry.

I thought my life was set.

Early in our relationship, during one of those “getting-to-know-you” conversations, she told me her body count was two. I won’t pretend I didn’t think about it. I’ve always held this quiet, perhaps unfair belief that when it comes to such numbers, you multiply what a woman says by three. I know I could be wrong, but even then, I told myself that six wasn’t bad for a 28-year-old. I accepted it and moved on because I trusted her.

Trust was the foundation of what we had. She knew the password to my phone. I knew the pin to hers. That openness gave me peace. I never checked her phone because I had no reason to. Looking back now, I wonder if that openness was the perfect disguise. If it was reverse psychology, then it worked flawlessly on me.

Until about a month ago.

Some small incidents, nothing dramatic, just subtle inconsistencies started to disturb my spirit. I couldn’t explain it, but something felt off. One night, against everything I believed about trust, I checked her phone. What I saw broke something inside me that I’m not sure can ever be repaired.

My heart started pounding so hard I thought I would collapse. The woman I thought was mine, the woman I planned to marry, was seeing multiple men. I counted not less than nine. All of them were married men. The messages were blunt, casual, almost transactional. “Meet me at…” followed by the name of a hotel. No romance. No secrecy in tone. Just arrangements. When I checked the dates, I felt physically sick. Even last week, she met two of them.

This wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t a one-time lapse in judgment. This had been going on for a very long time.

I sat there staring at her phone, my hands shaking, my soul aching, my entire sense of reality collapsing. I kept asking myself questions I had no answers to. What is she looking for? Is this about money? Validation? Thrill? Is this disguised prostitution? And what about my health? The risk of STIs? The thought alone terrified me.

What hurts the most is that, despite everything I saw, I know she loves me in her own way. Or at least, I believe she does. But love that comes with this level of betrayal feels twisted and dangerous. I can’t unsee what I saw. I can’t unknow it. The commitments we’ve made suddenly feel hollow. I have reached a decision I never thought I would make: I am done. I have chosen to cut my losses. That part is settled.

But now I’m trapped in another kind of pain.

Her final exams start in about a week. These exams matter. They determine her future. I know her well enough to know that if I confront her now, if I tell her I know everything and end the relationship, it will shatter her focus. It could ruin her performance. Despite everything, I don’t want to be the reason her academic dreams collapse.

At the same time, waiting feels like torture.

Every day I look at her, talk to her, pretend everything is fine, it feels like I’m dying slowly. I’m carrying a secret that is poisoning me from the inside. I replay the messages in my head. I imagine her in those hotel rooms. I feel anger, disgust, sorrow, and heartbreak all at once. Smiling through it feels dishonest, almost cruel to myself.

So here I am, torn between two unbearable choices.

Do I tell her now and risk destroying her exams, knowing that I was honest but merciless with timing? Or do I wait until after her exams, protect her future, and sacrifice my own peace a little longer?

Marriage Through the Eyes of Millennials and Gen-Z

I never imagined love would place me in a position where compassion feels like self-betrayal and honesty feels like cruelty. I wanted to be a husband, a protector, a partner. Instead, I am a man sitting in silence, holding a truth that is eating him alive, wondering when heartbreak becomes survival.

I don’t doubt my decision to walk away. What I doubt is when to speak and whether there is any way to leave without losing even more of myself in the process.

—Ernest

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