My Past Mistakes

I used to believe love was simple.

You meet someone, you fall for them, you trust them, you stay loyal… that’s it. That was before I met Nnamdi

Before him, I had a few boyfriends here and there. Even in the university. Short-lived, shallow connections. None of them lasted, not because I didn’t like them, but because I had a rule. A stubborn, immovable rule, no sex before marriage. I wasn’t ashamed of it. I was proud, even. But apparently, boys weren’t as patient as I was. They didn’t see value in waiting. And so, the relationships crumbled, sometimes quietly, sometimes explosively, but always in the end, alone.

Of course, no guy wants to date a girl that can't give them the tiny hole in between her two legs.

Then Nnamdi came along.

I met him at a friend’s party. He was everything I had ever imagined, and nothing I thought I wanted. Warm smile, mischievous, cute eyes, easy laugh that made everyone near him relax. He had that aura, you know, the kind that makes a crowded room feel empty, just for you. And somehow, he made me forget all the rules I had built around my heart. But he didn’t ask me to break them. He respected me. He understood me.

The first time we talked alone, in the quiet corner of that party, he looked at me and said:

“Chiọma, you’re… different. I like that.”

I laughed nervously. “Different, huh? That’s good?”

“You’re not like them,” he said. “The ones who don’t wait, the ones who don’t care. I like you for not just being here for a night.”

And just like that, I felt a pull I had never felt before. Something that whispered: maybe, just maybe, this could last. I've found my true love, my happy ever after. Lol, funny.

We started dating quietly. No rush. No pressure. And for months, it felt… safe. Warm. Like coming home after a long day.

It was a Thursday evening when he said it, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world:

“Babe, you worry too much. I’m not going anywhere.”

I remember the way he pulled me close, looked into my eyes, pressed his lips to my lips, and held me like I was the only girl in the world.

And of course, I smiled. Because when a man looks at you like that… you don’t question him. You don’t doubt him. You just believe.

I believed him.

God help me, I believed him.

We have been together for eight months. Not living together, but close enough that his place felt like mine and mine felt like his. I've meet all his family members, they all loved me. I knew his routines: how he liked his tea, milk, no sugar, his favorite brand of soap, his favourite soup, his genre in movies, the little creases that formed around his eyes when he laughed too hard.

I knew everything… or at least, I thought I did.

There was just one thing I didn’t know.

It started small. Innocuous. A detail that should have raised red flags but didn’t.

“Who is she?” I asked one evening, trying to sound casual.

His eyes met mine without hesitation.

“My sister,” he said.

Simple. Clean. No stress. I nodded. Even smiled a little. But something twisted in my stomach.

Because the way she looked at him the first time I saw them together… that wasn’t how sisters looked at their brothers. And secondly, I know all his biological sisters, how come I don't know nor seen this one before?

That Wednesday changed everything.

I wasn’t supposed to be there. I had gone to return the leather bag Nnamdi gave me after the weekend we spent together. I hadn’t called. I hadn’t texted. I just went. Maybe if I had, things would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t have seen… that.

The compound was too quiet when I arrived.

Too quiet.

I remember thinking, he must not be home.

But the door was slightly open.

I frowned.

“Nnamdi?” I called softly, stepping inside.

No answer.

Just silence.

Then… laughter.

A woman’s laughter. Soft, intimate, the kind that doesn’t belong to strangers.

My heart skipped.

I took a step forward. And then another.

And that was when I saw them.

Nnamdi and her.

Not sitting. Not talking. Not acting like siblings.

No. He was on top her on his bed. They were kissing. Lips locked!!!

The kind of kiss that erases all excuses. The kind you can’t explain away. The kind that makes your stomach drop and your chest collapse at the same time.

I froze. Completely. Like my body forgot how to move.

His eyes opened. And he saw me.

“Chiọma…” he said, voice low, hesitant, like he hadn’t expected me to exist in that moment.

Her head turned too. And for a single second, just one, our eyes met. No shame. No surprise. Just calm. She knew about me.

And then it hit me. Hard. Cold. Clear.

I wasn’t the girlfriend. She was.

The bag slipped from my hands.

And finally, my body remembered how to move.

I turned and ran.

I ran through the streets, barefoot, the cool night air biting at my skin. My tears mixed with the drizzle that had started falling, blurring the streetlights. My chest burned, my lungs ached, but I didn’t stop. Not even when my legs felt like they would give out.

Why did I run? Maybe to get away from them. Maybe to escape the disbelief. Maybe because it was the first time I truly saw the man I thought I loved for who he really was.

That night, I sat on my bed at home, shaking, holding nothing, thinking of everything.

I remembered our first kiss, the one that had made my heart feel like it could explode.

I remembered the way he used to smile at me when I made tea wrong, pretending to sip it anyway.

I remembered the promises whispered at 2 a.m. in his bed, the soft caresses, the I love you’s that I thought were mine.

And now… they were gone.

I pulled my phone from my bag, trembling, and dialed my best friend, Mma. She picked up after three rings.

“Chiọma? Why are you crying at this hour?” she asked, her voice soft but sharp with concern.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” I whispered, letting a fresh wave of tears fall. “It’s Nnamd… I—he—” I couldn’t get the words out.

“Take a breath,” Mma said patiently. “Just tell me what happened.”

So I told her. Every detail. From the casual Wednesday I wasn’t supposed to be there, to the bag in my hand, to the kiss I will never forget, to the way my body refused to move. I even confessed the little doubts I’d brushed aside before, the tiny hints that didn’t make sense at the time.

“Chiọma… oh my God,” she breathed. “I… I can’t believe it. That… that’s terrible. Are you okay?”

I shook my head, though she couldn’t see me. “No. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay. I trusted him, Mma. I trusted him more than anyone. And he… he betrayed me.”

“I know, babe. I know,” she said. “But listen… you are stronger than this. You always have been. And you will get through it. You’re going to survive this, Chiọma. You will. And you will be better for it.”

Her words were comforting, but they couldn’t stop the ache that clawed at my chest. I hung up after a while, knowing she would call again in the morning. I wasn’t ready for company. I wasn’t ready for the world. I just curled into myself and let the tears come.

Hours passed. Or maybe minutes, I couldn’t tell. The sky lightened slightly, grayish-pink at the edges, when exhaustion finally dragged me under. I slept on my bed, clutching a pillow as if it could shield me from the memories of Nnamdi, the betrayal, the love I had thought was real.

When I woke, the weight of reality was still heavy. I walked to the window and stared at the street, empty except for a few early risers. Every corner reminded me of him, of us, of everything that had been. And yet… a part of me began to think, maybe this was the beginning. The beginning of reclaiming myself.

I sat down with my journal and started to write. At first, just a few words: I can’t believe I trusted him… Then a paragraph. Then pages. Writing became my therapy, my way to untangle the mess inside me. I wrote about my childhood, my first crushes, the rules I had set for myself, the heartbreaks before Nnamdi, the joy of finally feeling seen by someone who respected me.

Each word, each sentence, each paragraph peeled away a layer of the betrayal. By the time the sun fully rose, my eyes were red, my hands cramped, but my heart felt… lighter.

And as I wrote, a strange thing happened. I laughed. Not a big laugh, not yet. Just a small, bitter laugh at the thought of Nnamdi thinking he could hurt me completely. That laughter became a spark. A whisper that maybe I wasn’t broken. Maybe I wasn’t ruined. Maybe I was just beginning to see who I truly was without him

And in that moment, I swore to myself: I would never be so naive again.

But life has a way of testing even your strongest promises.

Because Nnamdi wasn’t finished with me yet..