I didn’t grow up in a rich home but my family was happy. We had love, peace, and dignity in abundance. My parents built a marriage everyone admired. As a little girl, I always dreamed I would have what they had. They loved each other openly. They prayed together, and raised us with the fear of God.

Watching them made me believe that marriage was sacred. I had this strong optimism that love was forever. “If a home is built on God, it will never fall apart,” I believed.

Because of that belief, I stayed in church, committed my youth to God, and kept myself for the man I prayed God would give me as my husband. While I prayed, I waited on God. I am not kidding, all through my life, I never had a boyfriend. I never entertained any man. I was convinced my obedience and purity would be rewarded with a peaceful home.

Then, I married a youth pastor who was respected and admired by many. My joy knew no bounds. I thought my waiting had finally paid off. I thought God had answered my prayer.

My dear readers, it’s like my husband has made a vow to sleep with anything in skirts. He cheats with anyone and anyhow without shame. Sometimes I ask myself if he even remembers he’s a pastor. I have seen things and heard things that made me cry until there were no tears left.

I’ve tried to stay strong because of my children. I keep telling myself I want them to have a home, but this home feels like a prison now. I’m tired of pretending, tired of carrying pain while smiling in church pews.

I feel God has not been fair to me. I can’t cheat — it’s not in me. That’s not how I was raised. But I have never truly known what love feels like. Every day, I feel empty. Lonely. Unwanted.

Sometimes I ask God, why did I have to wait faithfully for 26 years, only to end up here? What did I do wrong? Was my waiting in vain?

All I ever wanted was a peaceful marriage and a loving home. Instead, I’ve been given a home filled with betrayal and heartbreak.

—Glossy

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