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Aribim* (33) thought she was building a life with the man she’d known since she was 19. She had met his family, cooked for his mother, and spent five years loving him with the kind of certainty that comes from being chosen every day. Then one afternoon at a bar, his friend casually mentioned he was getting married to someone else. She shares the story of that betrayal, the grief that followed, and the quiet love she found on the other side.

This is Aribim’s Story, as told to Princess 

We met when I was still in school. I remember I was on my way out the back gate. There were these stores lined up across from each other; mostly beauty stores, maybe a small restaurant or two. I was heading out to buy hair extensions and nails. I was prepping for something, I don’t quite remember what anymore. It’s been years.

Anyway, I’d gotten to the end of the street and was about to make a right when this guy in a Lexus, I can’t remember the exact model, drove past. It was a careless drive, and he ended up splashing a small puddle of mud on me. He was about to drive off, but I guess he noticed, because he reversed and got out of the car. He wasn’t really apologising, he was trying to be suave about it. Trying to talk to me. But I was irritated. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say.

I just turned around and kept going. My first impression of him? Arrogant prick. I didn’t want anything to do with him. I’ve always felt like people who drive like idiots, who don’t care about others on the road, are the worst kind of people.

I was even more irritated because he was cute. I don’t like attractive men. Pretty boys are dangerous. They’re always fuckboys, or entitled, or weirdly performative. Anyway, I walked away that day and went on with my life.

Then, maybe a week or two later, I was at a Chicken Republic close to school. I was walking out while he was walking in, and he saw me and laughed — this mocking, annoying chuckle — and said something stupid like, “You again.” I rolled my eyes. This man again?

We ran into each other a few more times on campus. And slowly, the annoyance turned into curiosity. He started being… charming. And funny. He would go out of his way to talk to me in the most unexpected, ridiculous ways. At first, I’d be irritated, but I’d find myself laughing. He had a way of making me linger.

The first time I really heard him out, he properly apologised for the mud thing. Then dropped a stupid line about how he had been staring at me and wasn’t paying attention, that’s why he splashed the water. I rolled my eyes again.

He was about six feet tall. Light cocoa brown. Pretty eyes. A pretty man. Early 30s. He met me where I was, in terms of personality and interests. Eventually, I stopped avoiding him. I started enjoying our conversations. I’d even wave first sometimes.

One day, he casually asked if I wanted to hang out. I said yes. He took me to a park. I’d mentioned I liked nature, so he found this quiet spot in a field, and we sat on the bonnet of his car. He played music from his speakers. We drank tequila. At first, I thought he was being cheap — just one bottle and some chin-chin. But then he went to the backseat and brought out a picnic basket. Snacks. Packed food. Card games. I was impressed. I didn’t expect that level of intention from a Nigerian man.

Nothing happened that night. No kissing. No touching. But there was this magnetic pull. He made me feel like I was in a romance novel. Still, I didn’t let myself fully sink into it. I’ve been through my fair share of abusive relationships. So while I was enjoying it, I was also hyper-aware. I was never fully at peace.

We kept hanging out. And one day, I kissed him first. He never tried anything. He’d get close, but he wasn’t physical. He made me want to make the move.

We had a good partnership. A real relationship. He was financially buoyant; more than okay, actually. He had multiple businesses. I was still in school and hustling. I sold clothes, shoes, and lingerie on the side. There was no dependence on him, but he cushioned my life. He made the daily struggles feel less heavy.

It took us a few months to become official. We hadn’t even had sex yet when he asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes because he ticked all the boxes. He pursued me. Consistently. Lovingly. Unorthodox but sincere. 

We barely argued. And when we did, there was respect. He never lorded over me or treated me harshly. I even met his mum. I was nervous, of course, but she welcomed me. She even braided my hair. Complimented my cooking. I stayed with them sometimes. The whole family called me “our wife.”

He posted me. It was WhatsApp and Facebook back then, but still, he never hid me.

We talked about marriage. He always said “my wife” when talking about our future. He wanted four kids: two boys, two girls. I said two. He’d always laugh and try to negotiate. We made jokes about it.

We were together for five years.

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So that day, the day everything shattered, I was at a bar. One we both used to go to. I was with his friend, Emeka*. We were just eating and talking when Emeka said, “You know Fejro* is getting married, right?”

At first, I laughed. It didn’t register. I thought he was joking. That maybe he meant Fejiro* was about to propose to me. I giggled and kept sipping my drink.

Then he said it again, more seriously. I hit his hand and laughed again, like, “Stop now, abeg.”

Then he held my hand. Looked me in the eye. “He’s getting married right now. For real. I swear.”

He showed me pictures. Fejiro* with a woman. Not even too far from where we were. Wedding photos. His mother. Her family. Everything.

In that moment, my body felt like a movie in slow motion. My heart dropped to my feet. I could hear pounding, but it felt like it was coming from somewhere far away.

I started laughing manically. Like… mad person laughing. People were staring. Emeka* had to take me outside. I think I screamed in the parking lot. I don’t even fully remember what happened after that. There’s a blackout in my memory. The next thing I knew, I was back at my hostel. My head was pounding. There were tear tracks on my face. Some of my friends were there. Everything else came rushing back like a tidal wave.

I cried for days. I didn’t try to call him. What was there to say? A month later, he reached out. Talking about how he still loved me. That what we had was real. I laughed. Then I blocked him. Everywhere. He tried again. For almost a year. New numbers. New platforms. Messaging apps. I never responded. I didn’t blame myself. It wasn’t easy for him to get into my life. He worked for it. Once, he even organised a birthday party for me, and I never showed up. He didn’t stop coming for me. He played a long game. I was not at fault.

But I was heartbroken. Shattered. My life collapsed. I barely ate. Barely moved. I cried every day. For a year. He was my life. For five years. My people knew him. His people knew me. It took a long time to feel like myself again. Looking back now… I don’t know what red flags I missed. He was busy. Travelled a lot. But that was always part of who he was. I even went on trips with him. There were no gaps. No suspicions. No weird behaviour. He played his game well.

What would I tell my younger self? Maybe, “Look closer.” Yet,even now, I don’t know how I could’ve seen it. I loved myself. I wasn’t desperate and definitely not blind. He was just that good at lying.

Do I think he ever loved me? I thought he did. I thought he worshipped the ground I walked on.

To other women in situations like this — the betrayal, the waiting, the hoping — I’ll say this: You will break. It will feel impossible. Like your entire identity has been pulled out from under you. You’ll have to relearn how to live. How to breathe. How to be without them.

Please go to therapy. Be around people who love you. There is a whole life outside them. You deserve to find it. 

I’ve healed. I found love again. It’s quiet and deep. Some mornings I wake up in our flat in Poland, my wife beside me, our kids giggling in the next room. And I remember that heartbreak not with pain, but with gratitude. Because I finally found the kind of love that doesn’t hide.

I’m still figuring out what love means. But I know this, it shouldn’t feel like betrayal.

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