His Mother Warned Me But I Refused To Listen

Dear Pete,

I want to share a story I never told you during our time together. Three months into our relationship, your mother reached out to me privately and said, “Young lady, Pete is my son, and I care for him deeply, but if I were your mother, I wouldn’t let you date him.” I smiled awkwardly, thinking she was joking, but she continued, “Pete isn’t the kind of man a woman like you should pursue. You’re young, beautiful, and ambitious. Why would you want to be with someone like him? Just this week, you’re the fourth woman he’s brought into this house. He doesn’t respect women because he has too many of them.”

After about fifteen minutes of conversation, she looked at me, waiting for a response. All I could say was, “Thank you, Mom, but I’ll do everything I can to make him change.” Your mother simply smiled and replied, “Don’t be foolish. Just walk away.”

I thought she didn’t like me, which is why she was trying to push me away. If she hadn’t told those other three women to leave, why was I being singled out? It only meant one thing: I was the one she didn’t approve of, so from that moment on, I resolved to fight for you. I was just a child, nineteen and naive about love, believing that fighting for you was the only way to prove my feelings.

From that day forward, I became obsessed with you. If three other women were in your life, it meant you were desirable, and I wanted you for myself.

If you recall, I never wanted to be apart from you. I was always in your space, trying to push the other women away. But no matter how hard I tried, you slipped away to be with them. One day, while you were sleeping, I took your phone and went through your messages, but found nothing. You were clever; you had covered your tracks. So, I decided to team up with your younger sister. I bought her a gift, gave her some money, and asked her to keep an eye on who came and went. A week later, she called to tell me you were with a girl in your room. I checked the time—it was 10:15 PM.

You had just messaged me to say goodnight, even sending kisses and wishing me “Sweet dreams.” How could you be with someone else? I got out of bed, put on my jeans, and took a taxi to your place. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I went anyway. True to your sister’s word, there was a girl in your room. I don’t know what came over me, but as soon as I entered, I felt the urge to attack her. I lunged at her, grabbed her hair, and shouted, “Boyfriend snatcher!” I might have overestimated my strength and underestimated hers. Somehow, she broke free and grabbed my neck. That’s when I realized I was in trouble.

I thought you would come to my rescue, that you would pull her away so I could get a chance to hit her back, but instead, you quietly picked up your shirt and walked out of the room. Thanks to your mother and the other tenants who intervened, I’m here to write this letter. By the time they separated us, I had a swollen lip and bloodshot eyes, bleeding from my nose, while you were nowhere to be found. Your mother told me, “You’re a foolish girl, and I would be ashamed if I were your mother. Who in their right mind would fight over a man like Pete?” Yet, she was kind to me, providing ice and cleaning the blood from my face.

That’s when I realized how much your mother cared for me. She treated my wounds while ignoring the other girl. I waited for you to come and take me home, but you never showed up. I called you several times, but you didn’t answer. It was your younger sister who walked me home, and I’m grateful to her. You didn’t call until the next day, when you answered my call and started insulting me. Yes, I acknowledged my mistakes. It was my fault; I should have been more measured in my actions. But Pete, that girl hurt me. She left me with bloodshot eyes and a swollen lip. Didn’t you care about the pain she caused me?

You insulted me. I apologized. You threatened to end the relationship. I begged you to stay. You asked me to promise that it wouldn’t happen again, and I did. I asked you to promise you wouldn’t look at another girl, and you agreed. I trusted you. I loved you, but your mother despised me for sticking by you. I told her, “If you love someone, you fight for them.” She replied, “You’ve wasted your mother’s efforts, and you should be ashamed.” I thought she was being too harsh.

Things returned to normal. For six months, we experienced nothing but love and happiness. I followed you everywhere, and you led me without hesitation. My heart was joyful, and my mind was at peace until that fateful night. When we heard a knock, I asked, “Are you expecting someone?” You replied, “No, it might be my mother,” so I got up to answer the door.

It wasn’t your mother; it was a woman. I asked, “Are you looking for someone?” She responded, “Who are you?” That question triggered me. “Is that how it is? You come to someone’s house and ask who she is?” An argument ensued. That’s when you came to the door to see what was happening, but we were already too far gone in our tempers. She swung at me but missed. I lunged at her, and that’s when the fight began. Again, you walked away as if we didn’t matter. You could have intervened when you saw I was losing, but you chose to walk away.

After a bruised face, a broken finger, swollen lips, and missing eyelashes, your mother came to my rescue again. She said, “When you attack, you lose. When you’re attacked, you still lose. You’re not even strong, so what are you doing in this relationship?” Once more, your mother was my guardian angel. She took care of me and let the other woman go. That night, while you were away, she sat me down and spoke to me for about an hour. She said, “You bring shame to your mother, but I like you because of your name. My mother was Binyelum. She was my joy and everything in life. I was just like you when she died, and life was never the same. Maybe you don’t respect yourself, but please respect your father’s name, their investments in you, and the kind of woman you’ll become. Walk away. Where’s that boy you think you love? Twice he left you to your fate, and you think he loves you that much? Why are kids today so foolish?”

She walked me to the roadside and helped me get a taxi home. I wanted to call you the next day to apologize. I wanted to promise you it would be the last time I fought. I needed to talk to you, but I resisted the urge. Your mother’s voice echoed in my mind, “Respect yourself, Binyelum.” So, I didn’t call, and you didn’t either. I reached out to your younger sister, who told me you were back to your old ways, with different girls each day. I thought to myself, “If I died, I would be replaced even before I was buried.”

I gained some sense and decided to walk away. Whenever I felt the urge to call you, I called your mother instead. We talked for hours, laughing together. She called me “mother,” and I called her “my old daughter.” Your mom was clever; she never mentioned you, even though I was dying to know what was happening with you. Then one morning, you called, “So you’ve become so arrogant that you can’t even apologize for your mistakes.” I replied, “I’ve become wise enough to realize I don’t need to keep fighting for someone who isn’t fighting for me.”

Your rants didn’t affect me. Your name-calling didn’t make me feel guilty. Your insults only reminded me of how foolish I once was, but no more. You hung up on me as if we were arguing. Maybe you thought I would panic and call you back, but this new me knew better. A week later, you called with a voice as soft as an angel’s, “I regret my actions. I’ve changed, and I swear it’s only going to be you in my life. Since you left, I’ve realized you’re the one I truly love. Please, let’s try again.”

When I hung up, I told myself, “My name means ‘Live with me,’ but I don’t have to live with things that will ultimately harm me.” I chose myself and said goodbye to whoever you had become. If you’ve changed, I’ve changed too. The difference is that I’m better than the girl who left your place that night with a bruised face, broken finger, swollen lips, and missing eyelashes.

The girl who changed,

—Binyelum