I’ve been in a long-distance relationship for four months now. Before I officially proposed to her, she told me about a guy who had also expressed romantic interest in her just the day before. This discouraged me.

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“I love you but I can’t share you with another man,” I told her as I decided to back away.

It’s not as if I didn’t want to fight for her. Based on the things she told me about the other guy, I he had what it took to win her heart. She didn’t agree with me though. Neither did she let me go.

“He proposed but I turned him down because it’s you I love, not him. I chose you over him. So you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

What made me believe her was that sometimes, she conferenced me into their calls. There was nothing amorous about their conversations. This gave me a sense of trust.

A month and two weeks into the relationship, I went to visit her. The things we planned happened, even the ones we didn’t. By this I mean, we gave into passion and became lovers for the first time that day.

However, before my visit, she told me the same guy I had initially been worried about had already visited her three times. When I asked her about it, she reassured me that nothing happened. She said they were just friends. “I love you too much to betray you, trust me.” I did. I trusted her too much even.

A few days later, she asked me what I would do if the intimacy between us resulted in a pregnancy. I told her she should keep the baby. I was raised by a single mother, and I know how hard it was for her—so I didn’t want Alberta to go through the same thing. I promised to do everything I could so we could be together and raise the child as a couple.

Two weeks later, Alberta told me she was pregnant. As promised, I assured her I’d stand by her and support her through it all.

However, toward the end of March, I began to suspect something was off. She started receiving unusual calls at odd hours. When I asked about them, she told me it was her family calling to arrange a meeting because of the pregnancy. I wasn’t convinced, so I contacted an IT expert to help me access her phone.

What I found devastated me. The chats revealed that she was still in a relationship with the other guy, and he was aware of the pregnancy. In fact, he was even making plans to meet her family. The shock was so overwhelming that I collapsed and was admitted to the hospital.

Out of pain and confusion, I contacted the guy and explained everything to him. I asked him to clarify the kind of relationship he had with my girlfriend. He told me he was on a business trip and would get back to me—but I never heard from him again.

I confronted Alberta with the evidence. For a whole month, she denied everything. She claimed the chats were part of a test she had planned with the guy to test my trust. She sounded convincing, or maybe I loved her so deeply that I believed her.

One night, I called her and told her that the other guy had confessed everything to me. That’s when she finally admitted that something had indeed happened between them before my visit. She said she had kept it from me because she feared I

“I didn’t mean to lie but I couldn’t have told you the truth. You would have left me, and I love you too much to let that happen,” she said in her defense.

I felt completely betrayed—not just because of the physical relationship with the other guy, but because of how she repeatedly dismissed my concerns and made me feel insecure for asking questions. Even with clear evidence, she chose to lie.

I eventually broke up with her and wished her well.

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The last time she called me, she said that even though she has lost me, she wants me to know that the pregnancy is mine. When I asked about the other guy, she said she didn’t want to hear anything about him anymore. She told me she doesn’t need my support but wants me to know that I have a child somewhere. And that I’m welcome to be part of their life when I’ve healed from the hurt she caused me.

Since that call, my conscience has been battling with me. The thought of her ending up a single mother hurts me deeply. I still love her, but I can’t trust her anymore.

I Was Fine Until I Was Alone In My Room

Deep down, I want to take responsibility for the child, but I’m scared—scared of growing to love the child only to later find out through a DNA test that the child isn’t mine.

I’ve already suffered so much trying to recover from this heartbreak. I’m afraid that if I go through another one, I might not survive it.

—Daniel 

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