Nneoma’s hands trembled as she stared at her phone. She wasn’t sure she wanted to open his next message, but her heart wouldn’t let her rest. Slowly, she clicked it open.
The words pierced her like a knife:
“Look, Nneoma, don’t disturb me again. I’ve gotten what I wanted. Please, move on with your life.”
Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she thought her eyes were deceiving her. She read the message again and again, but it remained the same.
Tears rolled down her cheeks uncontrollably. Every promise he had made—every gift, every sweet word—suddenly turned into poison in her memory. She remembered how he had sworn never to hurt her, how he convinced her to prove her love, and how she believed him.
Now, she realized the bitter truth: she had been used.
The following days became a blur. At work, she forced smiles for customers, but deep down, she was broken. She avoided Priscilla, too ashamed to admit what had happened. The joy in her eyes had faded, replaced by a deep sadness.
Late at night, she would curl up on her bed and whisper to herself, “Why did I trust him? Why didn’t I listen to my heart?”
Weeks passed, and Nneoma tried to move on, but the wound inside her refused to heal. The betrayal cut too deep.
Then, one evening, just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, she noticed something unusual—something about her body that made her heart pound faster in fear.
Her period was late.
To be continued
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