I Know He’s Married, But I Can’t Leave Him. I Want His Wife to Find Out About Us

I dated him for four years. Four full years of my life, my youth, my emotions, my body, my hope. Four years of believing we were building something that would eventually become marriage. I was loyal. I was committed. I was certain of him. And in the end, he married someone else and told me I was too young.

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What makes it worse is that even a few days before his wedding, we spent the night together. There was no warning or sign that said he was getting married in a few days. He didn’t give me any distance. No hesitation. He held me the same way he always had. He kissed me the same way. He slept with me like a man who had nothing to hide. I never suspected anything. Not once. Then, a few days later, I saw his wedding photos.

I saw pictures of him smiling in traditional cloth, standing beside another woman, surrounded by family and joy. My world felt like it had collapsed inward. I could not breathe properly. I kept closing my eyes and opening them, hoping it was a lie, a prank, or a misunderstanding. It wasn’t. I was witnessing a grand prestidigitation.

I called him immediately. That same night, he came to see me. He apologized endlessly. He said he didn’t know how to tell me without hurting me. He told me, “I wanted to wait for you, but you’re only twenty-two. There are too many years ahead of you.”

He made it sound like my youth was a disease. As if it hadn’t been good enough to marry me, but good enough to sleep with me.

I didn’t forgive him. I was angry in a way I had never known before. I threatened to curse him. I told him he had taken everything from me. My innocence. My belief in love. My brightness. My colors. He said he wanted to compensate me, but I refused. What could compensate for betrayal wrapped in marriage?

A year later, I’m still dating him.

I don’t even know when it became normal. When the pain turned into routine. When seeing him became both my poison and my relief. Sometimes, out of bitterness, I tried to destroy the peace in his house. I wanted to collapse his marriage, so I placed evidence of his cheating ways everywhere, hoping his wife would find it. I secretly slipped used condoms into his back pocket. I left my panty in the backseat of his car. I left earrings, lipstick, everything to cause problems in his house, but his wife never found them. He rather found them and brought them to me.

Each time, he brought them back to me quietly, like a man cleaning his own mess. No confrontation. No fear. No consequences. That hurt even more. It meant I was fighting alone. It meant I was invisible to the person I wanted to hurt the most.

Now I am tired. Tired of sneaking. Tired of sharing a man I knew before everyone else. Tired of hating myself every time I spend time with him. I want to walk away, but I keep going back. All he has to do is call and say, “I’ve missed you.” Or use the pet name only he knows. And suddenly, my resolve disappears. My legs carry me back to him before my mind can catch up.

On his part, he does everything to keep me bound. He gives me money. He buys me things. He fixes my problems. He shows up when I am stuck. And then he gives me headaches that no painkiller can touch. He holds me just enough to keep me hopeful, but never enough to set me free.

I tried to seek God’s intervention to break free. I went to a pastor I trusted and told him everything. I cried. I begged him to pray for me and break whatever bond tied me to this man. He asked me to fast for three days. I obeyed. I was weak, hungry, desperate for deliverance. On the day I was to break the fast, the same pastor almost used me to break his own carnal fast. That alone shattered my trust, safety, and the faith I had in him.

Now guess who I reported the pastor to…the same man I was trying to escape. That is how deep this thing has gone. He has become the center of my being. My default. My escape. My prison. If he tells me today that he wants me as a second wife, my head will scream no. I know it will. But my heart? My silly heart will soften. It always does when it comes to him.

I am not proud of this. I am ashamed. I hate that I am sleeping with another woman’s husband. I hate that I feel manipulated but still stay. I hate that my willpower feels like paper in fire. I want to leave. I want to disappear. I want to reclaim myself. But I don’t know how to do it alone.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

That is why I am asking. Is there anything legal, anything practical, anything real I can do to break free from this shackle he has placed me in? I am not happy. I am not fulfilled. I am not whole. I feel trapped in a love that was never meant to survive.

I hope that by telling this story, something in me will finally stand up and walk away. But if it doesn’t, I will need to rely on your kind words to break free. Please help. I want my life back.

—Princess

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