On the eve of our wedding, the night that was supposed to be soft, sacred, and full of nervous excitement, he texted me that he was going out with his friends. It was around 9pm. I remember staring at the message longer than I should have, trying to decide whether to laugh it off or question it properly. I finally replied, half joking and half serious, “You’re going out this time, and you’ll come back at what time? You better not come and sleep during the wedding ooo.” He replied with laughing emojis and promised he would return very early.

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I wanted to believe him. After all, this was the man I was about to marry. The man I had prayed with, planned with, and trusted enough to say yes to forever. That night, I lay in bed replaying the wedding program in my head. The order of service. The songs. The walk down the aisle. The vows. I imagined his face when he saw me. I imagined my own smile. I wanted to sleep, but sleep refused to come. My mind was too full. So I picked up my phone and went on WhatsApp, watching status updates just to distract myself.

I texted him to ask if he was back at the hotel. No response. I told myself not to overthink it. Maybe he was in a loud place. A few minutes after 11pm, I noticed that one of the friends he went out with had updated his status. I watched the video casually at first. They were all there, laughing, drinking, having fun. Then my heart skipped in a way that felt unnatural. I saw Vanessa.

Vanessa, his ex.

She was pouring a drink into a glass. She was not standing right next to my husband, but she was not far either. Close enough to be part of the circle. Close enough to matter. I remember whispering to myself, “What is this girl doing in town? And why is she out with my husband?” My thoughts ran faster than my breath. Did he invite her to the wedding? Did he tell me about it and I forgot? Why tonight, of all nights?

Fear crept in quietly and then sat heavily in my chest. I called him. He did not pick up. I waited and called again. Still nothing. Midnight passed. By 12am, he had not called back or even sent a message. I called again. No answer. Around 1am, a message finally came. He said he was back at the hotel and was sleeping.

I stared at that message for a long time. Sleeping. Just like that. As if nothing in the world could be wrong.

The wedding day came, bright and loud and full of people. On the outside, everything looked perfect. On the inside, I was scanning faces. Every time someone walked in late during the service, my heart jumped. I kept asking myself if it was Vanessa. I checked the reception too. She was not there. That confused me even more. So she traveled all the way just to hang out the night before my wedding and disappear?

Something in me refused to rest. I have always trusted my instincts. That day, they were screaming. I did not want to be lied to, not on something this big. If I was going to enter this marriage, I wanted to do it with my eyes open. So I decided I would find out the truth myself.

On our honeymoon, I became quiet and observant. I watched him closely. I looked for cracks. I knew the truth was in his phone, but getting access was not easy. His phone had a password I did not know. His WhatsApp also had its own password. I waited. Then the next day, I picked up his MacBook and told him I wanted to watch a movie. While I was watching Netflix, he was in bed chatting and smiling at his phone.

While the movie played, I opened WhatsApp on his MacBook. Everything was there, laid out in a way that felt cruel in its clarity. He was chatting with Chris, who was also his best man at the wedding. My hands shook, but I kept reading. I saw the message he sent to the guy whose status I saw Vanessa. He texted, “My guy, delete the video. Vanessa is showing in the background.”

My stomach dropped.

I checked the messages between him and Vanessa. He had sent only “Hello.” She had not replied. That alone did not tell the full story. I knew messages had been deleted. Then I went back to the chat with Chris. That was where everything spilled.

My husband had spent the night with Vanessa. He had woken up from her side and come straight to our wedding. He was telling Chris he was too drunk and almost late. He said he could not touch her. Chris replied, “You booked a flight for her only to oversleep? My guy, you slack big time.” My husband replied, “Chale say that again. Maybe it was my wife’s prayers working against me because I can’t understand this.”

Chris asked, “And she also didn’t make any move?” My husband responded, “She was even more drunk than I was. She didn’t even see me when I woke up.”

I closed the laptop slowly. I felt like my chest was tearing open. I was sure nothing physical happened, but the intention was loud and violent in my ears. He intended to spend the night with his ex on the eve of our wedding. That alone was enough to break something in me. I lay on the bed, staring into the nothingness, my heart beating too fast.

I did not want to talk immediately. I wanted to think. I wanted to understand my emotions before speaking, but pain has a way of leaking. He noticed. He asked what was wrong. I said I was fine. He knew I was not. He pressed. I finally said, “So you woke up from the side of Vanessa to say ‘I do’ to me? Lie, I’m listening.”

He froze. He knew I knew too much. He tossed and turned, muttering to himself. I repeated, “Talk, I’m listening.” He broke down into apologies, saying nothing happened, as if that was supposed to erase the betrayal. I asked why she was there. I asked why he bought her a ticket. He denied it. He said she was already in town and did not even know it was his wedding night. I screamed, “Liar! Chris said everything in your chat, so why are you lying?”

Our honeymoon ended there. We packed and came home. Begging filled the house from morning till evening. He said he had deleted her number. He said it would never happen again. He said he would make it up to me. But how do you make up for something like this? How do you erase the image of your husband walking down the aisle from another woman’s bed?

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

Four months into marriage, and the wound is still open. Some days I want to forget. Some days I want to run away. I have no one to talk to. I want a witness. I want someone to sit us down and help us heal properly. He says we are too young to involve a third party. I believe we are too fragile not to. That is why I am sharing my story. Because love alone did not protect me, and silence is slowly breaking me.

—Jacinta

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