EPISODE 3

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The next few days felt like walking through a dark tunnel with no end in sight.

I didn’t cry in front of anyone. But every night, I soaked my pillow in silence. The pain stayed with me like a shadow — following me everywhere I went. My phone kept buzzing with messages I didn’t want to read. People had started gossiping. My neighbors. My church members. Even my co-workers.

I couldn’t go to work. I couldn’t even step out to buy pure water. Everyone looked at me like I was the girl who was dumped and disgraced. The girl whose fiancé married her best friend in secret.

But I wasn’t going to let that be my story.

One morning, I looked into the mirror. My eyes were swollen. My face looked tired. My lips were cracked. But inside me, something had started to grow — anger, yes, but also determination.

They took everything from me. Now, I would take everything back — with success.

I picked up my phone, opened the voice note app, and recorded a short message:

> “To everyone laughing at me now, enjoy the moment. Because soon, you’ll see me on your TV, in your newspapers, and maybe in your dreams — not crying, but winning. Watch me.”

I didn’t post it. Not yet. But I kept it.

That day, I applied for three job opportunities I had been ignoring for months. I opened a small YouTube channel and started sharing short motivational videos. I borrowed a friend’s camera and recorded myself speaking about heartbreak, healing, and betrayal.

People began to listen.

My story was raw. Real. Relatable.

Followers grew. Messages poured in. Women from different places were telling me, “I’m going through the same thing. Please don’t stop.”

One evening, just two weeks after my heartbreak, I got a call from a radio station in Lagos. They had seen one of my videos. They wanted me to come for an interview.

I smiled — for the first time in days.

But that wasn’t even the best part.

That same day, as I stepped out of my gate to get a bolt ride, guess who I saw?

Michael.

Yes. The same Michael who once called me “just a phase.”

He was standing beside a small Toyota car — not the Benz he used to borrow for show. His eyes met mine, and he froze like a thief caught in daylight.

I wore my black gown again. But this time, I wasn’t wearing it in pain. I wore it with pride. Black — not for mourning, but for rising.

“Amaka…” he called gently.

I didn’t answer. I just stood, waiting for my ride.

He walked closer. “Please… can we talk?”

I turned slowly. My eyes met his, calm but strong.

“Talk? The last time I checked, your wife said I was blind. Your words were, ‘Leave before I disgrace you.’ What changed?”

He sighed. “I messed up. Sandra… she’s not who I thought she was. Since the wedding, things haven’t been okay. We fight every day. I miss your peace, Amaka.”

Peace?

He had the guts to say peace again?

I smiled. “Now you see the difference between a woman who prays for you and a woman who preys on you.”

He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

I stepped closer. “Sorry won’t rewind the past. You had me. You lost me. Now I’m finding me.”

Just then, my bolt ride arrived.

As I walked toward the car, I paused and said, “Next time you kneel for a woman in the rain, don’t let her be a shade. Let her be your shelter.”

I entered the car and shut the door.

As we drove off, I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to.

Because the best revenge is not tears… it’s transformation.

And I was just getting started.

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To be continued…

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