Jealous Woman Stole Her Friend’s Husband, Not Knowing He Was A…… l A Story of Betrayal

The eyes that look outside will never see the truth inside. If I had known then what I know now, I would have hugged my ordinary life tighter because what I thought was ordinary was actually peace in disguise. Tiwa and I have been best friends since our university days in Ephe. You know those friendships where you finish each other's sentences and fight over who gets the last piece of suya? That was us. After school, life us to the same estate in Lagos. A small peaceful compound with matching bungalows and nosy neighbors. We were inseparable. Every Sunday we sat together at church like twins. Every Friday evening, we went to Mamaris's book down the road to Ikamala Beiri and gossip about work, men, and everything in between. But as time passed, our lives started to look different. Tia was married to Dio, tall, dark, always smelling of expensive gulong, the kind of man that makes women take a second look. He drove a black Gwagon. He called her my queen in public. He sent her flower bouquets that filled the whole living room. Tia would laugh and wave her hand like it was nothing. Ah, yeah. One day, Dor just sent me to Dubai for my birthday. Or I didn't even ask. But me, I would laugh too. I always laughed. But sometimes my stomach turned as if I had eaten something bitter because my own husband Tundday Tundday had never sent me flowers. In fact, he forgot my birthday last year for the third year in a row. Tind is not a bad man. In fact, he's a good man, but he's not st. We met during our NYC in Lauren. He was the quiet type, always reading under the mango tree behind the copper's lodge. I was drawn to his calmness. While others chased trails, tun chased books and meaning. He studied economics. He now works at a micro finance bank. Not much money, but he has a stable job. Steady, stable, and dependable. He's the kind of man who saves 200 naira every week to surprise me with roasted plantain on Thursdays. Not flashy, but not bad either. Still, a woman's heart can be foolish sometimes. Dio, on the other hand, was Ta's classmate in university. He was already making money back then, flipping phones and gadgets. After school, he launched into business fully. Nobody knows exactly what he does, but the money flows. He dresses like a senator, talks like a motivational speaker, and posts love notes on Ta's Instagram every week. I remember the exact day the seed of envy took root in my heart. It was Tiva's wedding anniversary. She invited us over for a small celebration at their house. The dining table was covered in petals and candles. Dio had prepared a video montage of their love story, including voice notes, vacation clips, and surprise gifts. As we watched it, Ti cried happy tears. Even I cried. When we got home, I looked at Tundi and I asked him gently, "Babe, do you remember when we got married? He blinked. Was it not June third or is it F? I looked at him slightly annoyed, but inside me something broke. That night, as I lay beside my snoring husband, I whispered into the darkness, "God, why didn't I marry someone like Dio? Why did Ta get all the sparkle and I got this? I wish I was married to Dio." That was the first time I made that wish. a foolish, dangerous wish. And as the Euroba say, the tongue has no bones, but it can break a man's destiny. I didn't know that when I made that wish that night, something somewhere had hurt me. I knew something was wrong the moment my eyes opened the next morning. The room was too quiet, too still, and too cold. It wasn't the usual hum of our standing fan or the distant sound of our neighbor's crying baby. It was like I had woken up in someone else's life. I sat up slowly. The bed sheet felt like silk, smooth, slippery, and rich, not the faded cotton ones Tundai and I had used for 5 years. My heart started beating fast. I looked around. The ceiling had a chandelier. There was a giant painting on the wall. marble tiles under my feet, a fulllength mirror in the corner. "This is not my house," I whispered. I sat up barefoot, trembling. I walked towards the kitchen, and I froze. Where our small gas cooker used to be was now a shiny microwave. Where we kept our pot in an old rack was now polished cabinets that opened with a soft push. There were scented candles, bottles of wine, gold trimmed plates in glass cupboards. Uh-uh. I held on to the counter to stop myself from falling. My legs felt weak. I rushed to the mirror by the door. I looked at it. It was still me. Same brown skin, same tired eyes. But somehow it wasn't me at all. Then I turned. The bathroom door creaked open as I opened it. And lying there under a silk duvet was Dio Tiwa's husband peacefully sleeping like a baby mouth slightly open snoring softly I gasped and I took two steps back my chest tightened like someone had ripped a rope around it. What is going on? I asked out loud. My voice was shaking. I remembered what my grandmother used to say. What the eyes envy, the heart may not survive. Now I understood. Suddenly, like a flash of lightning across my mind, I remembered the old woman I had met months ago. I was driving back from the market one afternoon. The sun was hot and I was sweating. I saw an old woman by the roadside. She was blind and walking with a white cane. People were walking past her like she didn't exist. I stopped and I picked her up. She didn't say much. She just thanked me and smiled. But before she came down, she touched my hand and she said, "You admire what you don't understand. One day you will see what you envy." Back then I thought she was just saying nonsense. But now it made sense. I hadn't become Tiwa. No, not fully. I was still one day. But I had been placed inside her life, given a seat at the front of the stage I used to clap for from the crowd. And now I was in the middle of the shoe. But something told me this play was not the comedy I thought it was. It was a tragedy wearing makeup and I was about to watch it unfold from the inside. When the frog in the pond envies the lizard on the fence, it forgets that the sun burns differently outside the water. And now I was out of the water and the heat was just beginning. At first it felt like a dream. I wouldn't lie, I liked it. That first morning, Dio took me out in his black Gwagon. The leather seats hugged my body. The AC was cold. The music was soft. People stared when we drove by and for once I didn't feel invisible. He took me to Radison Blue for lunch. Not Bua food, not fast food, but real fine dining, waiters in suits with white napkins and menu with no prices. I smiled so hard my cheeks hot. He said I looked beautiful. He kissed my hand like a movie star. Later that day, a delivery came. gold earrings, a new iPhone, lace wrapper still smelling of Dubai. I stood in front of the mirror, touching the fabric, it shimmerred in delight. This is the life, I whispered. This is what I've been missing. But happiness that grows too fast doesn't last. Like unripe mango that looks sweet but burns the tongue. It didn't take long for the taste to turn bitter. One evening, I cooked stew. It wasn't anything special, just peppered beef with rice. He took one spoon, dropped his fork, and stood up. "Are you trying to kill me?" he shouted. "Is this salt or poison?" I froze. He stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. I was shocked, but I told myself it was just stress. "Even the best yam has a black spot," I muttered to myself, trying to laugh. But the spot in this particular yarn was growing. Another day we were at a restaurant. The waiter smiled at me. Just normal smile. Dio's eyes changed. And from then on for the rest of the time we were at the restaurant. He had a bad attitude towards me. When we got into the car, he turned to me cold and slow. You like him, Abby? That's why you were laughing like a goat. I opened my mouth to explain. He punched the steering wheel so hard I jumped. One night while he was asleep, his phone buzzed. I didn't plan to check it, but I did. There were over 20 messages, women calling him baby, sending him pictures, voice notes, even begging to see him again. I felt sick. The same mouth that called me queen yesterday was calling someone else my heartbeat tonight. H no wonder the African proverb said the lion you envy for its strength may be eating stoden meat. Then came the phone calls. At 2:00 a.m. he would whisper angrily into the phone. He would usually use euroba mixed with English calling strange names and making strange threats. What was going on? What? One morning I opened a drawer in the guest room looking for chargers and there it was a black pistol wrapped in cloth and beside it was bundles of money, pound stings and dollars. My whole body went cold. I backed away slowly, my chest pounding. My god, could it be that the woman that I once admired was actually dangerous? Then something happened on a Tuesday in March. He was preparing to go out and I asked him, "Are you coming home early?" He turned slowly like he couldn't believe I had the audacity to speak. "Don't you dare question me," he said. "You think you're my mother?" I laughed nervously. "No, it's just I wanted to make your favorite soup." Next thing I heard was, "Whoop!" He slapped me. He slapped me hard. My face burned. I stumbled into the dining chair. My hand touched my cheeks and tears came to my eyes. He leaned it. He leaned in close. If you ever embarrass me again, I would destroy your life. You don't know who you are dealing with. Then he turned and he walked away, leaving me still in shock. I packed the small bag that night and I tried to leave, but the security man at the gate shook his head. Madame Augusti, nobody leave this house without his permission. What? At first, I tried to use my authority to make him open the gates, but it didn't work. I begged. He refused. I felt the walls closing in. There was no one to call, no one who would believe me. To the world, Dio was a dream, a good husband, a big man. But I was trapped in this nightmare. The chicken that dances for the crowd may be crying inside its heart. And I I was crying inside, but no one could see. No one but me. I couldn't leave that night. That night, Bio came back very drunk. When I asked why he was so drunk, he slapped me. Two hot slaps in one day. I could not take it anymore. I ran into the room. I packed a small bag. My hands were still shaking. My cheek was burning, but I moved fast, hoping to sneak sneak out before he realized I was gone. The gates man stopped me again. Madame August said, "Nobody leaves this house without his permission. I begged. I cried. I even dropped to my knees." He looked away. So I turned around and I walked back inside feeling empty. The house felt like a cage now. a golden mansion prison with cold floors and lock doors. I dropped my bag at the entrance and I sat down on the staircase and then I broke. I cried like a baby. It was loud, messy tears. I cried for my stupid stupidity, for my blindness, for my peace that I had traded for this stupid illusion. I don't know when I fell asleep, but I did. right there on the staircase. And that was when it happened. I opened my eyes and I wasn't on the staircase anymore. I was in a bathroom, a different one. This one was small but familiar with white tiles and a broken toile rail. The same bathroom in Ta's house. I knew it because we had taken mirror selfies there after her bridal shower. I stood frozen and then I saw her. Tiwa. She was sitting on the floor. Her knees were pulled to her chest, wearing that red and white night gown she always posts on Instagram. The one with the caption, "Spoil me on evening." But now it was stained with tears and with pain. She didn't see me. It was like I wasn't fully there. It was like I was a ghost watching her own reflection. Her wig was off. Her real hair was messy. Her face was stripped of filters and foundation. It was raw. She had a bruise behind her left ear. She was sobbing, not loudly, but deep shaking sobs. The kind of tears that comes from pain, deep pain. Then I saw her hand holding a small mirror. She was trying to smile into the mirror. She was practicing her smile. It looked so twisted. Why was she trying so hard to smile despite her pain? I saw her wiping her tears, then smiling, and then wiping her tears again. She kept doing it over and over and over. And that was when I understood Ta wasn't living a dream. She was living a show, a onewoman performance. And I, the foolish audience, had clapped the loudest for her. I thought I wanted her life. I thought she had it all. But now I saw she had pain in expensive dresses. She had bruises under bridal makeup. She had agony covered in Instagram captions. The wall gecko that dances in the open is not always happy. Sometimes it is running from a fire. And I saw clearly for the first time. I wasn't just living her life. I was witnessing it. The part nobody sees. The part she hides. The part she would never show anyone. As I stood there watching her fall apart, I remembered Tundday. My Tundday. His soft snores. His tired feet at the end of the day. His jokes that never landed but always made me laugh. His arms that never hit me, only held me. Tunday had never made me feel like a queen. No. But he had never made me feel small either. He showed me love in quiet ways, peeling oranges for me, fixing the water pump, texting, "Have you eaten?" every afternoon. How did I not see it before? How did I not appreciate him? How had I been so dissatisfied with my life? I had gold and I called it dust. I chased dust and called it treasure. Tears welled up in my eyes. A person who throws away a clay pot because they want a golden one may end up thirsty. I wanted to go home. Not just back to my house, but back to my truth. Because peace doesn't shine like diamonds. It doesn't drive a Benz. It doesn't post online, but it lets you sleep without fear and wake up with love. and it definitely doesn't hit you. I don't know how long I stood in that bathroom watching Tiwa cry, watching her try to hold herself together with shaking hands and smudge mascara. Watching her practice a smile that didn't reach her eyes. I wanted to reach out, to hold her, to say, "It is okay. I understand now." But I couldn't move. It was like I wasn't in a body anymore. Just a spirit floating between her world and mine. And then everything went dark. A silence so heavy I could feel it pressing against my skin. And slowly the light returned. And when I opened my eyes, I was lying on my bed. My own bed. The small one with the squeaky springs. On the bed was the faded blue bit bed sheet with yellow sunflowers. My wrapper was wrapped halfway around my leg, the tiny crack on the ceiling staring down at me just like it always did. I blinked once, then twice. I looked around. The early morning sun peeked through the cotton. I could hear someone in the kitchen humming. I sat up. My chest felt tight. Not from fear this time, but from something else. something warm. I stood up and I followed the sound. There in the kitchen was Tundday wearing his old black t-shirt, humming one off key topper and laby song, flipping something in the pan with his bare hand like he couldn't feel heat. Eh, madame has woken up, he said with a smile, turning to face me. I made you yam and egg. I didn't say anything. I just stood there looking at this smile. this ordinary extraordinary man. His face was tired. His eyes were soft. His shirt had a stain of pan oil. But I had never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. And just like that, the tears came. Not sad tears this time. No, it were tears of relief. Tears of peace. Tears of coming home to something I didn't even know I missed. He looked confused and looked at me. Babe, are you okay? I nodded and I walked towards him. Then I wrapped my arms around him tightly. I held him like he was oxygen like I had been drowning and I just reached the shore. He froze for a second. Then he laughed gently. Yeah. Acting like I won a jackpot. I whispered into his chest, "You are the jackpot today. You are the jackpot." Later that day, I sat alone by the window, watching Tundday pack his office bag, admiring him like I had never done before, loving him silently, watching our neighbors kids chase a chicken, listening to the sound of generator engines and someone hawking for puff down the road. It was a normal day, a small, quiet, peaceful day, and I was grateful. I remembered that old woman in my dream or wherever it was she came from and her words came back to me again. You admire what you don't understand. One day you will see what you envy. Now I understood. Peace is not loud. Love is not perfect. And gold doesn't always glitter. That weekend I went to situa. She looked fine on the outside. Her lashes were full, her hair was fresh, her nails were painted wine red. But when I hugged her, her body felt stiff, like someone who is always bracing for impact. I held her longer than usual. And when I pulled back, I looked her in the eye and I said, "You can talk to me. I'm here. No judgment, just love." She didn't say a word, but her eyes filled with tears. And for once, she didn't blink them away. For once, she was herself. If you're watching this, maybe you're like me, looking at someone else's life, thinking they've got it better than you, thinking, "If only my husband was like, "If only I lived like that. If only I had a life. If only I was pretty like her. If only my boyfriend was romantic like hers. If only this. If only that." But let me tell you something. My own life had to scream before I listened. Comparison is the thief of joy and envy is the lie that tells you your own life and your own peace is not enough. I almost lost everything chasing a shadow. Now I guard my reality like treasure because two may not post me on Instagram but he prays for me in the dark. And that is that is love. That is true love and that is the love I want. Sometimes the love you're looking for is already in your house. It just doesn't wear designers or look like what you think you need. But it is there if only you can see it. If only you can stop looking at the grass that is greener on the other side. Because trust me, that grass is only green if you water it. If this story touched you, don't forget to like the video and share it with someone who needs this reminder as well. And now, don't go anywhere. Another blockbuster tale from grandma is showing on the screen right here. Click it and enjoy. See you in my next video. [Music]