I’m not even sure where to start.
It all began about two years ago when I met Amara at a friend’s birthday in Jabi. She wasn’t the type you’d forget easily. Light-skinned, soft-spoken, curvy in that effortless way that made people look twice. She laughed at my dry jokes and made me feel like I mattered. Before the night ended, we exchanged numbers, and that was the start of everything.
We talked every single day. Morning texts, late-night calls, video chats during work breaks. She became part of my routine, part of my peace. I worked in Abuja then, earning decent pay at a logistics company. She lived in Lagos, but the distance didn’t bother me because we both said we were serious about each other.
Last year, she told me she was struggling financially and wanted to start a small hair business. I sent her money several times, nothing crazy, just to support her. She always said, “You’re the only one who truly understands me.” That made me feel like I was doing something right.
Then, early this year, she told me she was tired of the distance. She said another man was showing interest in Lagos, and she didn’t know what to do. I panicked because I didn’t want to lose her. Everyone around me told me to think carefully, but I couldn’t. I loved her too much. So I resigned from my job, packed my things, and moved to Lagos to “start our life together.”
For the first few weeks, things seemed perfect. We went out often, took pictures, and talked about getting an apartment together. I thought I had made the right choice. But soon, things started changing. She became distant. She was always on her phone, going out to “meet clients” for her supposed business.
I noticed she started buying new wigs, perfumes, and clothes, and when I asked how business was going so well, she would get angry and say I was becoming insecure.
One night, she slept off, and her phone screen lit up with a message. A man had sent her ₦200,000 with the message, “Thanks for last night.” I froze. My chest tightened, and I didn’t know whether to scream or cry.
When I confronted her the next morning, she didn’t even deny it. She told me she had been seeing other men and said, “You came here by yourself. I never asked you to leave your job.”
That single sentence broke me completely.
Now my savings are almost gone. The small business I tried to start here failed because I used most of my capital to cover our expenses. I’m living in a small room in Ojuelegba, barely eating twice a day, and trying to understand how I let love blind me like this.
I keep thinking about my old life in Abuja — my job, my friends, my peace. I feel like I lost everything trying to build something that was never real.
People say love is a risk, but this one feels like I gambled my whole future and lost.
Now the money is finished, my business didn’t work, and I’m filled with regret.
What should I do now? Should I go back to Abuja and start over, or stay in Lagos and try to rebuild from nothing?