Please don't copy, edit, or republish without permission.
Want to share? Just credit the author: Adebimpe Jumoke Obafemi.
Thank you!
TWO MONTHS BEFORE - Part 6
The Unraveling
God answered my prayer.
Not all at once, like pulling back a curtain.
More like... slowly turning up the lights in a dark room. At first, you don't see much. Then shapes start forming. Then details. Then the whole picture becomes painfully clear.
Week 1 of my fast:
Chris came over for dinner on Friday evening. My mother had made jollof rice and chickenâhis favorite. We ate with my parents at the dining table, making small talk about work, church, and the weather.
After dinner, Chris and I sat in the living room while my parents gave us space. We were discussing finances for the weddingâdeposits, vendors, budgets.
"So I've been thinking," Chris said casually, scrolling through his phone. "Once we're married and you finish this Master's program, maybe you should think about stepping back from work a bit."
I looked up from my notebook where I'd been tallying expenses. "What do you mean, step back?"
"I mean, maybe go part-time. Or just... not pursue any big promotions. You know, so you have time for the home, for me, for kids eventually."
"Chris, I love my job."
"I know, babe. But we can't have you becoming the breadwinner. That would emasculate me. I need to be able to provide for my family."
"You would be providing. We'd both be providing. That's what partnership means."
He looked up from his phone, and for a split second, I saw something in his eyes. Something cold.
"Omolabake, I'm the man. The head. When we're married, my word is final. You can have your opinions, but at the end of the day, I lead. That's biblical."
My stomach turned. "Chris, biblical headship doesn't mean dictatorshipâ"
"I'm not arguing about this," he said, his voice suddenly sharp. Then he seemed to catch himself, softening. "Look, babe, we'll figure it out. No need to stress about it now."
But I was stressed. Because this wasn't about career anymore. This was about control.
And I didn't explain it away this time.
I felt it. The wrongness of it. Crystal clear.
Week 2:
It was a Tuesday evening. I'd left work late and was driving home when I passed by the church. The lights were still on in the media room.
Chris had mentioned he'd be working late on Sunday's presentation.
On impulse, I decided to surprise him with food. I'd stopped at Sweet Sensation and picked up his favoriteâmeat pie and a vanilla milkshake.
When I got to the church, his car was in the parking lot. So was Sister Bimpe's small Honda.
My pulse quickened.
Don't be paranoid, I told myself. They're probably just working.
I walked to the media room and knocked.
"Come in!" Chris's voice.
I opened the door.
Chris and Bimpe were sitting close together at the editing desk, both looking at the laptop screen. Not touching, nothing inappropriate.
But the atmosphere... something felt off.
"Omolabake!" Chris said, surprise flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought you food. I saw the lights on and thought you might be hungry."
"Oh. That's... thanks, babe." He didn't get up to hug me. Didn't come take the food.
Sister Bimpe stood. "I should go. We're almost done anyway."
"No, you don't have to leave on my account," I said, my voice tight.
"It's fine. I have an early class tomorrow." She grabbed her bag and left, barely looking at me.
After she was gone, I set the food on the desk. "You two seemed very focused."
"We're editing the announcement slides. It requires concentration."
"She's here a lot late, isn't she?"
Chris sighed. "Are we doing this again? The jealousy thing?"
"I'm not jealous. I'm observant."
"Same thing." He closed his laptop. "You know what? I've lost my appetite. I think I should just go home."
"Chrisâ"
"No, Omolabake. I'm tired of defending myself. I'm tired of you questioning everything I do. If you don't trust me, maybe we shouldn't be getting married."
The words hit like a slap.
He grabbed his things and walked past me without another word.
I stood there in the empty media room, holding a meat pie I'd bought for a man who'd just threatened our entire relationship because I noticed him with another woman.
That night, I cried myself to sleep.
But this time, the tears weren't confusion.
They were clarity.
Week 3:
I decided to visit Chris's parents. We hadn't spent much time with themâChris always had excuses for why we couldn't go see them. But I insisted, and he finally agreed.
Their house was in Oluyole, on the other side of Ibadanâabout a 45-minute drive from Bodija. Nice compound, well-kept. His mother welcomed me warmlyâalmost too warmly, like she was trying extra hard.
After lunch, while Chris was outside with his father, his mother pulled me aside in the kitchen.
"Omolabake, you seem like a good girl."
"Thank you, ma."
She hesitated, then: "Chris can be... particular. He has his ways. Marriage is about compromise, you know. Learning to adapt."
I felt a chill. "What do you mean, particular?"
"Oh, you know. He likes things a certain way. Doesn't like being questioned. But that's just him. His father is the same." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You'll learn to work around it."
Work around it.
Not "work with him."
Not "he'll learn to compromise too."
Work around it.
Like he was a permanent fixture I just needed to adjust myself to accommodate.
Later, as Chris and I were leaving, his younger sisterâNkem, 24, sweet girlâwalked me to the car while Chris talked to his father.
"Can I tell you something?" she whispered.
"Of course."
"Chris doesn't take advice well. From anyone. Even Daddy can't talk to him without him getting defensive." She looked nervously toward the house. "Just... be prepared for that. He's my brother and I love him, but..." She trailed off.
"But what?"
"Just be careful. That's all."
The drive home was quiet. I kept thinking about what his mother and sister had said.
They were warning me.
In their own careful way, they were trying to tell me something I needed to hear.
Week 4:
I needed to print something for work. My printer at home was out of ink, so I texted Chris asking if I could use his.
"Come over," he replied. "I'm home."
When I got to his apartment, he was in the shower. "Go ahead and use the laptop," he called out. "Password is 1234."
I opened his laptop and went to the printer settings.
That's when the Instagram notification popped up.
DM from someone named "Tola "
"Last night was fun "
My hands froze on the keyboard.
I shouldn't look. That's an invasion of privacy
.
But my fingers were already clicking.
The messages loaded.
There were multiple threads. Multiple women. Flirty messages. Compliments. Inside jokes. Photos they'd sent him. Photos he'd sent backânothing explicit, but the energy was all wrong.
Sister Bimpe was there too. "You're such a tease" with a heart emoji.
Another woman: "Can't wait to see you again."
Him to another: "You looked beautiful today. As always."
Nothing technically crossed any clear lines. No explicit content. No evidence of physical cheating.
But this was emotional infidelity. This was a man who was engaged, planning a wedding, and maintaining flirtatious relationships with multiple women.
I was staring at the screen when he came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist.
"Find the printer settings?" he asked casually.
Then he saw my face.
Then he saw the laptop screen.
"Are youâdid you go through my messages?" His voice went from confused to furious in seconds.
"It popped up. I didn't mean to, but Chris, what is all this?"
"What is what? Private conversations you have no right to read?"
"Flirty conversations with multiple women while you're engaged to me!"
"They're FRIENDS, Omolabake! Friends! I'm allowed to have friends!â
"This isn't friendship!" My voice was shaking. "This is... this is wrong and you know it!"
"You know what's inappropriate? Snooping through someone's private messages! I can't believe you violated my trust like this!"
The audacity.
He'd violated our entire relationship, and I was the one violating trust?
"So you're not even going to acknowledge that this is wrong?" I asked, feeling something break inside me.
"The only thing wrong here is you!" He was yelling now. "You're controlling. You're insecure. You're jealous of every woman I interact with. Maybe your father was right. Maybe you're NOT mature enough for marriage!"
That line. Again.
Using my father's concerns as a weapon.
I stood up, grabbed my bag, and walked to the door.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Away from you."
"Omolabake, if you walk out that door, don't come back."
I stopped. Turned around. Looked at this man I'd almost married.
And I saw him. Really saw him.
Not the helpful man in the rain.
Not the charming visitor who brought gifts.
Not the romantic proposer with sunset and flowers.
But a manipulative, controlling, emotionally unfaithful man who would gaslight me for the rest of my life.
"Goodbye, Chris."
I walked out.
He didn't follow.
God had answered my prayer.
He'd shown me the truth.
And it shattered me.
But it also set me free.
© Adebimpe Obafemi
#TwoMonthsBefore
#ToxicRelationship
#RedFlags
#KnowYourWorth
#ChristianSingles
Want to share? Just credit the author: Adebimpe Jumoke Obafemi.
Thank you!
TWO MONTHS BEFORE - Part 6
The Unraveling
God answered my prayer.
Not all at once, like pulling back a curtain.
More like... slowly turning up the lights in a dark room. At first, you don't see much. Then shapes start forming. Then details. Then the whole picture becomes painfully clear.
Week 1 of my fast:
Chris came over for dinner on Friday evening. My mother had made jollof rice and chickenâhis favorite. We ate with my parents at the dining table, making small talk about work, church, and the weather.
After dinner, Chris and I sat in the living room while my parents gave us space. We were discussing finances for the weddingâdeposits, vendors, budgets.
"So I've been thinking," Chris said casually, scrolling through his phone. "Once we're married and you finish this Master's program, maybe you should think about stepping back from work a bit."
I looked up from my notebook where I'd been tallying expenses. "What do you mean, step back?"
"I mean, maybe go part-time. Or just... not pursue any big promotions. You know, so you have time for the home, for me, for kids eventually."
"Chris, I love my job."
"I know, babe. But we can't have you becoming the breadwinner. That would emasculate me. I need to be able to provide for my family."
"You would be providing. We'd both be providing. That's what partnership means."
He looked up from his phone, and for a split second, I saw something in his eyes. Something cold.
"Omolabake, I'm the man. The head. When we're married, my word is final. You can have your opinions, but at the end of the day, I lead. That's biblical."
My stomach turned. "Chris, biblical headship doesn't mean dictatorshipâ"
"I'm not arguing about this," he said, his voice suddenly sharp. Then he seemed to catch himself, softening. "Look, babe, we'll figure it out. No need to stress about it now."
But I was stressed. Because this wasn't about career anymore. This was about control.
And I didn't explain it away this time.
I felt it. The wrongness of it. Crystal clear.
Week 2:
It was a Tuesday evening. I'd left work late and was driving home when I passed by the church. The lights were still on in the media room.
Chris had mentioned he'd be working late on Sunday's presentation.
On impulse, I decided to surprise him with food. I'd stopped at Sweet Sensation and picked up his favoriteâmeat pie and a vanilla milkshake.
When I got to the church, his car was in the parking lot. So was Sister Bimpe's small Honda.
My pulse quickened.
Don't be paranoid, I told myself. They're probably just working.
I walked to the media room and knocked.
"Come in!" Chris's voice.
I opened the door.
Chris and Bimpe were sitting close together at the editing desk, both looking at the laptop screen. Not touching, nothing inappropriate.
But the atmosphere... something felt off.
"Omolabake!" Chris said, surprise flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought you food. I saw the lights on and thought you might be hungry."
"Oh. That's... thanks, babe." He didn't get up to hug me. Didn't come take the food.
Sister Bimpe stood. "I should go. We're almost done anyway."
"No, you don't have to leave on my account," I said, my voice tight.
"It's fine. I have an early class tomorrow." She grabbed her bag and left, barely looking at me.
After she was gone, I set the food on the desk. "You two seemed very focused."
"We're editing the announcement slides. It requires concentration."
"She's here a lot late, isn't she?"
Chris sighed. "Are we doing this again? The jealousy thing?"
"I'm not jealous. I'm observant."
"Same thing." He closed his laptop. "You know what? I've lost my appetite. I think I should just go home."
"Chrisâ"
"No, Omolabake. I'm tired of defending myself. I'm tired of you questioning everything I do. If you don't trust me, maybe we shouldn't be getting married."
The words hit like a slap.
He grabbed his things and walked past me without another word.
I stood there in the empty media room, holding a meat pie I'd bought for a man who'd just threatened our entire relationship because I noticed him with another woman.
That night, I cried myself to sleep.
But this time, the tears weren't confusion.
They were clarity.
Week 3:
I decided to visit Chris's parents. We hadn't spent much time with themâChris always had excuses for why we couldn't go see them. But I insisted, and he finally agreed.
Their house was in Oluyole, on the other side of Ibadanâabout a 45-minute drive from Bodija. Nice compound, well-kept. His mother welcomed me warmlyâalmost too warmly, like she was trying extra hard.
After lunch, while Chris was outside with his father, his mother pulled me aside in the kitchen.
"Omolabake, you seem like a good girl."
"Thank you, ma."
She hesitated, then: "Chris can be... particular. He has his ways. Marriage is about compromise, you know. Learning to adapt."
I felt a chill. "What do you mean, particular?"
"Oh, you know. He likes things a certain way. Doesn't like being questioned. But that's just him. His father is the same." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You'll learn to work around it."
Work around it.
Not "work with him."
Not "he'll learn to compromise too."
Work around it.
Like he was a permanent fixture I just needed to adjust myself to accommodate.
Later, as Chris and I were leaving, his younger sisterâNkem, 24, sweet girlâwalked me to the car while Chris talked to his father.
"Can I tell you something?" she whispered.
"Of course."
"Chris doesn't take advice well. From anyone. Even Daddy can't talk to him without him getting defensive." She looked nervously toward the house. "Just... be prepared for that. He's my brother and I love him, but..." She trailed off.
"But what?"
"Just be careful. That's all."
The drive home was quiet. I kept thinking about what his mother and sister had said.
They were warning me.
In their own careful way, they were trying to tell me something I needed to hear.
Week 4:
I needed to print something for work. My printer at home was out of ink, so I texted Chris asking if I could use his.
"Come over," he replied. "I'm home."
When I got to his apartment, he was in the shower. "Go ahead and use the laptop," he called out. "Password is 1234."
I opened his laptop and went to the printer settings.
That's when the Instagram notification popped up.
DM from someone named "Tola "
"Last night was fun "
My hands froze on the keyboard.
I shouldn't look. That's an invasion of privacy
.
But my fingers were already clicking.
The messages loaded.
There were multiple threads. Multiple women. Flirty messages. Compliments. Inside jokes. Photos they'd sent him. Photos he'd sent backânothing explicit, but the energy was all wrong.
Sister Bimpe was there too. "You're such a tease" with a heart emoji.
Another woman: "Can't wait to see you again."
Him to another: "You looked beautiful today. As always."
Nothing technically crossed any clear lines. No explicit content. No evidence of physical cheating.
But this was emotional infidelity. This was a man who was engaged, planning a wedding, and maintaining flirtatious relationships with multiple women.
I was staring at the screen when he came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist.
"Find the printer settings?" he asked casually.
Then he saw my face.
Then he saw the laptop screen.
"Are youâdid you go through my messages?" His voice went from confused to furious in seconds.
"It popped up. I didn't mean to, but Chris, what is all this?"
"What is what? Private conversations you have no right to read?"
"Flirty conversations with multiple women while you're engaged to me!"
"They're FRIENDS, Omolabake! Friends! I'm allowed to have friends!â
"This isn't friendship!" My voice was shaking. "This is... this is wrong and you know it!"
"You know what's inappropriate? Snooping through someone's private messages! I can't believe you violated my trust like this!"
The audacity.
He'd violated our entire relationship, and I was the one violating trust?
"So you're not even going to acknowledge that this is wrong?" I asked, feeling something break inside me.
"The only thing wrong here is you!" He was yelling now. "You're controlling. You're insecure. You're jealous of every woman I interact with. Maybe your father was right. Maybe you're NOT mature enough for marriage!"
That line. Again.
Using my father's concerns as a weapon.
I stood up, grabbed my bag, and walked to the door.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Away from you."
"Omolabake, if you walk out that door, don't come back."
I stopped. Turned around. Looked at this man I'd almost married.
And I saw him. Really saw him.
Not the helpful man in the rain.
Not the charming visitor who brought gifts.
Not the romantic proposer with sunset and flowers.
But a manipulative, controlling, emotionally unfaithful man who would gaslight me for the rest of my life.
"Goodbye, Chris."
I walked out.
He didn't follow.
God had answered my prayer.
He'd shown me the truth.
And it shattered me.
But it also set me free.
© Adebimpe Obafemi
#TwoMonthsBefore
#ToxicRelationship
#RedFlags
#KnowYourWorth
#ChristianSingles
Please don't copy, edit, or republish without permission.
Want to share? Just credit the author: Adebimpe Jumoke Obafemi.
Thank you! đ
TWO MONTHS BEFORE - Part 6
The Unraveling
God answered my prayer.
Not all at once, like pulling back a curtain.
More like... slowly turning up the lights in a dark room. At first, you don't see much. Then shapes start forming. Then details. Then the whole picture becomes painfully clear.
Week 1 of my fast:
Chris came over for dinner on Friday evening. My mother had made jollof rice and chickenâhis favorite. We ate with my parents at the dining table, making small talk about work, church, and the weather.
After dinner, Chris and I sat in the living room while my parents gave us space. We were discussing finances for the weddingâdeposits, vendors, budgets.
"So I've been thinking," Chris said casually, scrolling through his phone. "Once we're married and you finish this Master's program, maybe you should think about stepping back from work a bit."
I looked up from my notebook where I'd been tallying expenses. "What do you mean, step back?"
"I mean, maybe go part-time. Or just... not pursue any big promotions. You know, so you have time for the home, for me, for kids eventually."
"Chris, I love my job."
"I know, babe. But we can't have you becoming the breadwinner. That would emasculate me. I need to be able to provide for my family."
"You would be providing. We'd both be providing. That's what partnership means."
He looked up from his phone, and for a split second, I saw something in his eyes. Something cold.
"Omolabake, I'm the man. The head. When we're married, my word is final. You can have your opinions, but at the end of the day, I lead. That's biblical."
My stomach turned. "Chris, biblical headship doesn't mean dictatorshipâ"
"I'm not arguing about this," he said, his voice suddenly sharp. Then he seemed to catch himself, softening. "Look, babe, we'll figure it out. No need to stress about it now."
But I was stressed. Because this wasn't about career anymore. This was about control.
And I didn't explain it away this time.
I felt it. The wrongness of it. Crystal clear.
Week 2:
It was a Tuesday evening. I'd left work late and was driving home when I passed by the church. The lights were still on in the media room.
Chris had mentioned he'd be working late on Sunday's presentation.
On impulse, I decided to surprise him with food. I'd stopped at Sweet Sensation and picked up his favoriteâmeat pie and a vanilla milkshake.
When I got to the church, his car was in the parking lot. So was Sister Bimpe's small Honda.
My pulse quickened.
Don't be paranoid, I told myself. They're probably just working.
I walked to the media room and knocked.
"Come in!" Chris's voice.
I opened the door.
Chris and Bimpe were sitting close together at the editing desk, both looking at the laptop screen. Not touching, nothing inappropriate.
But the atmosphere... something felt off.
"Omolabake!" Chris said, surprise flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought you food. I saw the lights on and thought you might be hungry."
"Oh. That's... thanks, babe." He didn't get up to hug me. Didn't come take the food.
Sister Bimpe stood. "I should go. We're almost done anyway."
"No, you don't have to leave on my account," I said, my voice tight.
"It's fine. I have an early class tomorrow." She grabbed her bag and left, barely looking at me.
After she was gone, I set the food on the desk. "You two seemed very focused."
"We're editing the announcement slides. It requires concentration."
"She's here a lot late, isn't she?"
Chris sighed. "Are we doing this again? The jealousy thing?"
"I'm not jealous. I'm observant."
"Same thing." He closed his laptop. "You know what? I've lost my appetite. I think I should just go home."
"Chrisâ"
"No, Omolabake. I'm tired of defending myself. I'm tired of you questioning everything I do. If you don't trust me, maybe we shouldn't be getting married."
The words hit like a slap.
He grabbed his things and walked past me without another word.
I stood there in the empty media room, holding a meat pie I'd bought for a man who'd just threatened our entire relationship because I noticed him with another woman.
That night, I cried myself to sleep.
But this time, the tears weren't confusion.
They were clarity.
Week 3:
I decided to visit Chris's parents. We hadn't spent much time with themâChris always had excuses for why we couldn't go see them. But I insisted, and he finally agreed.
Their house was in Oluyole, on the other side of Ibadanâabout a 45-minute drive from Bodija. Nice compound, well-kept. His mother welcomed me warmlyâalmost too warmly, like she was trying extra hard.
After lunch, while Chris was outside with his father, his mother pulled me aside in the kitchen.
"Omolabake, you seem like a good girl."
"Thank you, ma."
She hesitated, then: "Chris can be... particular. He has his ways. Marriage is about compromise, you know. Learning to adapt."
I felt a chill. "What do you mean, particular?"
"Oh, you know. He likes things a certain way. Doesn't like being questioned. But that's just him. His father is the same." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You'll learn to work around it."
Work around it.
Not "work with him."
Not "he'll learn to compromise too."
Work around it.
Like he was a permanent fixture I just needed to adjust myself to accommodate.
Later, as Chris and I were leaving, his younger sisterâNkem, 24, sweet girlâwalked me to the car while Chris talked to his father.
"Can I tell you something?" she whispered.
"Of course."
"Chris doesn't take advice well. From anyone. Even Daddy can't talk to him without him getting defensive." She looked nervously toward the house. "Just... be prepared for that. He's my brother and I love him, but..." She trailed off.
"But what?"
"Just be careful. That's all."
The drive home was quiet. I kept thinking about what his mother and sister had said.
They were warning me.
In their own careful way, they were trying to tell me something I needed to hear.
Week 4:
I needed to print something for work. My printer at home was out of ink, so I texted Chris asking if I could use his.
"Come over," he replied. "I'm home."
When I got to his apartment, he was in the shower. "Go ahead and use the laptop," he called out. "Password is 1234."
I opened his laptop and went to the printer settings.
That's when the Instagram notification popped up.
DM from someone named "Tola đ"
"Last night was fun đ"
My hands froze on the keyboard.
I shouldn't look. That's an invasion of privacy
.
But my fingers were already clicking.
The messages loaded.
There were multiple threads. Multiple women. Flirty messages. Compliments. Inside jokes. Photos they'd sent him. Photos he'd sent backânothing explicit, but the energy was all wrong.
Sister Bimpe was there too. "You're such a tease" with a heart emoji.
Another woman: "Can't wait to see you again."
Him to another: "You looked beautiful today. As always."
Nothing technically crossed any clear lines. No explicit content. No evidence of physical cheating.
But this was emotional infidelity. This was a man who was engaged, planning a wedding, and maintaining flirtatious relationships with multiple women.
I was staring at the screen when he came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist.
"Find the printer settings?" he asked casually.
Then he saw my face.
Then he saw the laptop screen.
"Are youâdid you go through my messages?" His voice went from confused to furious in seconds.
"It popped up. I didn't mean to, but Chris, what is all this?"
"What is what? Private conversations you have no right to read?"
"Flirty conversations with multiple women while you're engaged to me!"
"They're FRIENDS, Omolabake! Friends! I'm allowed to have friends!â
"This isn't friendship!" My voice was shaking. "This is... this is wrong and you know it!"
"You know what's inappropriate? Snooping through someone's private messages! I can't believe you violated my trust like this!"
The audacity.
He'd violated our entire relationship, and I was the one violating trust?
"So you're not even going to acknowledge that this is wrong?" I asked, feeling something break inside me.
"The only thing wrong here is you!" He was yelling now. "You're controlling. You're insecure. You're jealous of every woman I interact with. Maybe your father was right. Maybe you're NOT mature enough for marriage!"
That line. Again.
Using my father's concerns as a weapon.
I stood up, grabbed my bag, and walked to the door.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Away from you."
"Omolabake, if you walk out that door, don't come back."
I stopped. Turned around. Looked at this man I'd almost married.
And I saw him. Really saw him.
Not the helpful man in the rain.
Not the charming visitor who brought gifts.
Not the romantic proposer with sunset and flowers.
But a manipulative, controlling, emotionally unfaithful man who would gaslight me for the rest of my life.
"Goodbye, Chris."
I walked out.
He didn't follow.
God had answered my prayer.
He'd shown me the truth.
And it shattered me.
But it also set me free.
© Adebimpe Obafemi
#TwoMonthsBefore
#ToxicRelationship
#RedFlags
#KnowYourWorth
#ChristianSingles
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