Second Chance Ended In Betrayal And Divorce

It was Valentine’s Day in 2017. We had been married for just a year, so we were still in that blissful phase of a new marriage. When love is fresh, everything feels perfect. He called me Lillies (short for Lilian), and I affectionately called him Dillies (Denis). He would order lunch and have it delivered to my workplace, and I would call him to tell him how he brightened my day. He would respond with something like, “I don’t just want to make your day; I want to make your days forever.”

Isn’t that sweet?

On that Valentine’s Day, my heart was soaring, eagerly anticipating what Dillies had planned for me. The night before, I had accidentally discovered a gold watch and a matching necklace in his bag. They were wrapped in a small red case adorned with a red ribbon. I knew they were for me, and I even felt a twinge of guilt for seeing them before the official reveal.

I began rehearsing my lines, determined not to spoil the moment. I imagined saying, “Oh, thank you! They’re beautiful,” as I took them out of the case, slipped on the watch, and asked him to help me with the necklace. I envisioned running to the mirror, striking a pose, and then rushing to hug him, showering him with gratitude. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise just because I had seen the gifts early.

On Valentine’s morning, he handed me a wrapped present that seemed larger than what I had seen the night before. I opened it to find a set of lingerie. He said, “We’re going out tonight, so be ready on time.”

I was confused. I had been expecting a necklace and a gold watch, so why lingerie?

We had a date planned for the evening, and I thought that was when he would present the watch and necklace. The night was lovely—delicious food, great drinks, and a beautiful location—but I couldn’t focus on anything but when he would give me that gift. We spent the entire night together, but he never presented it.

The next morning, I checked his bag, and the items were gone. Red flag!

That night, while he slept, I picked up his phone and went straight to his WhatsApp. The gold watch and necklace were meant for a girl he had met shortly after we got married. Their conversation revealed they had shared a lot and visited many places together. She had sent him a photo of herself in lingerie—the same kind he had bought for me. He even had a special nickname for her.

It was 1:33 AM. I returned to the bedroom and woke him up. “I was going through your phone, and look what I found.” I showed him the girl’s photo in lingerie. He was taken aback, perhaps not expecting me to do that or thinking that archiving the message would keep it hidden. He sat in bed for several minutes, speechless. I told him, “I knew about the gold watch and necklace. I thought they were for me, but little did I know you had someone else in mind.”

He pleaded with me not to leave him or do anything drastic. Right in front of me, he called the girl on speakerphone, telling her I had found out about her and that he regretted everything that had happened between them and wanted it to end. The girl didn’t say much, likely realizing she was on speaker, but I could only imagine what followed that call.

I forgave him, but I kept the receipt.

I’m a woman who loves deeply. I give my all in love, but when it falters, I’m slow to get hurt. I forgave him not because he deserved it, but because I wasn’t ready for a divorce. I could have escalated the situation and involved family members to dissect who was at fault, but I asked myself, “After everything, would I walk away?” The answer was no. If I wasn’t going to leave, I didn’t want to create a scene.

Life gradually returned to what it was before the betrayal. It was a long, winding road, but we both had the patience to let things unfold naturally, and eventually, they did. Then the virus hit, and the city went into lockdown. The night before the mandatory lockdown, I caught him again.

A message on his phone read:

Lady: “Are you going to the hospital with me tomorrow?”

Denis: “It’s a lockdown, remember?”

Lady: “And so? I’m not going through this if you don’t come with me.”

Denis: “Be reasonable. You know I would have gone with you if it weren’t for this issue.”

Lady: “I’ll be here. I hope I can still get rid of it after the lockdown.”

Denis: “Don’t be childish!”

“Hospital…” “Get rid of it…” You see where this is going? “But who is this lady?”

I scrolled through the chat until I found a photo. It was the same woman he had called three years ago to declare it was over. He had simply changed how he saved her name, thinking he was being clever.

Again, I walked into the bedroom and showed him the message. “We’ve been married for four years, and for three of those years, you’ve managed to keep a side piece. She’s pregnant while I’m here struggling to conceive with you. Congratulations.”

I threw the phone at him and retreated to the living room. I needed to cry. I tried to hold back the tears, but a lump formed in my throat, and I had to let it out. I sobbed uncontrollably, questioning myself: “Should I have left the first time I found out? Was it wrong to give him a second chance? Now what?” My mind was flooded with questions, none of which had easy answers.

The next morning, he approached me, asking, “Why do you feel the need to go through my phone whenever you want? Have you ever seen me going through yours since we got married?”

Sometimes men ask the wrong questions. I couldn’t understand why he would pose such foolish questions when he hadn’t addressed any of mine. I replied, “If you think you can cover up your misdeeds with such shameless questions, you won’t succeed. You got another woman pregnant while married to me. Who needs explanations here?”

He started spouting flimsy excuses about the girl being a liar and trying to trap him with a pregnancy. I asked, “There are millions of men in this city. Why you?” He kept rambling, unable to distinguish truth from nonsense. I watched him, but in my mind, I had already made my decision.

We were both living under the same roof with nowhere to go. When I was in the living room, he was in the bedroom. When I was hungry, I cooked just enough for myself. We couldn’t sit together, but we coexisted. A few days ago, I was watching TV while he attempted to cook. He struggled to light the gas, and I found myself hoping it would explode and burn him to ashes. Men like him deserve to face hell on earth before meeting their ultimate fate.

There’s little I can do now. The world is grappling with a larger issue than my own, so I will wait patiently. Soon, we’ll leave this prison and return to our lives as they once were. That’s when I will seek a divorce and leave his miserable existence behind.

—Lilian,

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