When I Realized My Boyfriend Was a Married Man, I Texted His Wife

I always thought heartbreak was something distant—a storm that happened to other people, on other timelines, in stories told by friends over drinks. I never thought it would find me, slowly, gently, and then all at once.

When I met Opong, he looked nothing like a man who carried a whole family behind him. The first time I saw him in town, he was working on a project for a few months. He wasn’t even living in my city permanently. Something about him made me think he was focused, serious, a man with direction. He introduced himself with that deep, calm voice of his, the kind that makes you feel safe without even trying. We talked a bit, exchanged numbers, and just like that, a small spark ignited.

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That spark grew into a relationship. A distant one, yes, but it felt warm and real. When he traveled back home, we talked until dawn. Video calls at night, laughter about little things, long conversations about the future, about how “our home” would look one day. Opong was incredibly consistent with me, too consistent for a married man, if you ask me now. But hindsight is the devil’s mirror. When you’re in love, all you see is what your heart wants you to see.

For a whole year, we dated. I had no clue he was married. Absolutely none. A married man should carry some evidence—a ring mark, a certain level of guilt, a behavioral glitch. But Opong carried none.

If he was away and I called, he picked up. If I wanted video calls, he never refused. If I texted late at night, he responded. Nothing, absolutely nothing, pointed to a wife and children waiting somewhere. And he wasn’t sloppy. Even the devil studies his tactics before he lies. Opong was smooth.

Then one random day, Facebook decided to play God and expose hidden things.

I saw a Facebook account with his face on it, but a different name. At first, I laughed. I thought, “Ah, so now people are using my boyfriend’s picture to catfish?” Something told me to open it. I wish that something had minded its business that day.

The profile looked abandoned. The last post was from over five years ago. But it was a wedding photo. My Opong was in a suit, holding hands with a beautiful bride. My heart sank so fast I thought I was going to faint. I clicked the photo. The bride was tagged: “Celestina.”

I tapped the tag. Her page opened. Her bio said, “Wife & Mother of boys.” And there were pictures; birthday parties, family outings, anniversary photos. His face was in all of them. My whole world spun. Everything inside me collapsed. You know that dizzy feeling where your throat dries up but your eyes start leaking uncontrollably? That was me.

My hands were trembling when I called him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” I asked.
He laughed. “Are you joking? Me? Married?”
I asked again, this time calmer. “Who is Celestina?”

Silence. Then stuttering. Then the useless apologies started pouring like rain in June.
“I was going to tell you. I loved you too much I didn’t want to lose you.”
I shouted, “You promised me marriage while you had a wife and children already! I swear I’m going to let your wife know the kind of life you live in the dark.”

He started begging. “Please don’t tell her. Don’t destroy my home.”

Destroy his home? A home he didn’t think about while building another one with me? I went straight back to Facebook and messaged Celestina: “Your husband has been lying to you and me. I’ve dated him for over a year. I only found out here yesterday that he was married to you.”

The next day, she replied. And her reaction shocked me to the marrow.
No anger. No surprise. She asked, “So why are you telling me this? Did he take you to his house? Did he introduce you to his family? Why did you believe him when he promised you marriage? Your relationship failed, so now you’re reporting to me?”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I told her it was a long-distance relationship so how was I supposed to know all that? And then she dropped the line that slapped me into silence:
“I pray you didn’t give him any disease to bring to my home. If I check and see anything suspicious, I’ll find you wherever you are and beat you.”

She hung up. I sat there, stunned. Frozen. After all that emotional damage, this was her conclusion? That I was the problem?

I cried. Not for Opong, and not for Celestina. I cried for myself, for the silly girl who believed promises from a married man who had perfected the art of lying. I felt used. Played. Embarrassed. And worst of all, blamed for something I didn’t even know I was in.

And now, instead of sitting quietly and healing, I’m burning inside. I want justice and accountability. I want Opong to feel some fraction of this humiliation. People say, “Leave it to God,” but right now, I swear even God understands why I want to embarrass him publicly.

I keep asking myself what I did wrong. Why was his wife acting like I was the one who broke vows? Why was she talking to me like I was auditioning to replace her? It hurts that even in their drama, I’m the villain.

Is There A Perfect One Out There For Everyone?

But there’s one thing I know for sure: I won’t end this story quietly. And I won’t. Opong will know pain. Not physical pain, but the kind of shame that cracks a liar’s confidence. If loving him was a mistake, then exposing him will be my correction.

And I promise myself this: never again will I let a man’s words blind me. I will go into the next one with an open heart and eyes wide open. Even at night, I will sleep with one eye open because a man is capable of things that surprise even the devil.

—Suzzy

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