BITTER TRUTH

The truth is bitter, they say. In my case, I knew the truth and as bitter as it was, it came with clear evidence placed right before me. Yet, I refused to accept it.

I was in a relationship with a girl named Beatrice. She was loving, kind everything a man could ever ask God for. Her caramel-colored skin shimmered under the sunlight, and her model-like figure made me feel proud just walking beside her on an early afternoon.

I met Beatrice during a business trip to Cross River State, Nigeria. She was representing her company and spoke so elegantly that I was instantly drawn to her. I took her number, and we started talking. To my surprise, I found out she lived in the same city as I did Port Harcourt, Rivers State. Bit by bit, we began taking evening strolls, then going on dates. Eventually, I asked her to be my girlfriend, and right there on the spot, she agreed.

Two months passed, and everything seemed to be going well. Then came a certain day. Her phone rang while she was at my place. Beatrice never left my presence to take calls, not even business ones. But this time, she left in a hurry rushing down the stairs to take the call. I was stunned. It was completely unlike her, and it felt off.

I'm not the kind of person who digs too deeply into someone’s past relationships, I usually just ask the basics and move on. When Beatrice came back upstairs, her mood had changed.

"What's wrong, my love? Why did you have to go downstairs to take your call? Are you alright?" I asked calmly.

"Not at all, it was just really important. I didn’t want to disturb you," Beatrice replied, almost panting.

"That's alright," I said, ending the conversation there.

Little did I know, Beatrice was in another relationship at the same time she was with me. It was heartbreaking.

All my friends knew about Beatrice. "Our wife," they would call her whenever they came around, and she would blush at the compliment. One of my friends, Jerry, never liked Beatrice from day one. He always said there was something fishy about her, and his suspicion showed. He would sit quietly in a corner whenever she was around, observing her like a detective.

Beatrice and I were to meet at a restaurant for dinner later that evening. She arrived first and had already ordered for both of us.

"Babe," I called from behind, tickling her sides as I approached. She jolted slightly, laughing.

"Baby, stop," she said, smiling.

I moved around and sat opposite her. A few minutes into our meal, she drew my attention.

"Baby, I need to talk to you about something very important," she said seriously.

"Of course, talk to me, I’m all ears," I replied, sticking a piece of plantain into my mouth.

"I'll be traveling out of the state to Lagos. My company needs me to represent them at a meeting. I’ll be leaving in two days and won’t be back for a week," she said softly.

"Oh my days, I’ll miss you so much, my love. I wish you all the best you’ll represent the company well. I trust you," I said, feeling both sad and proud.

Later, we said our goodbyes, and Beatrice left for her supposed trip. We did tons of video calls each day, which helped ease the distance.

Coincidentally, Jerry happened to work in the same company as Beatrice, though in a different department. When I mentioned to him that she had traveled for a business trip on behalf of the company, he was stunned.

"What? That’s strange. I wasn’t informed of any trip, and all flight tickets under the company must be approved by me," Jerry said, raising an eyebrow.

I was shocked. Why did Beatrice lie to me? Who did she really go to see?

"I’ve always told you something was off about Beatrice, but you wouldn’t listen. Now it’s beginning to unravel," Jerry said, shaking his head.

"I’m sure she has a reasonable explanation for it. She loves me and has no reason to lie. There was probably a mix-up somewhere," I replied, trying to defend her.

"Them no dey advise who dey inside love," Jerry said in Nigerian Pidgin, meaning “You can’t advise someone who’s deeply in love.”

"Because at this point, you don’t need a soothsayer to make you see things that are already obvious," he added.

I tried to wave Jerry’s words away, but his voice stayed in my head like a bell I could not silence. The truth was already standing in front of me, but I still chose to close my eyes. I loved Beatrice too much to accept that she could betray me.

A week later, she returned from her supposed trip. She came back with gifts, perfumes, and smiles, but deep down I could feel something was not the same. Her laughter felt forced, her hugs felt weaker, and even her kiss tasted different. I wanted to ask her, to confront her, but I swallowed my words.

Days passed. One evening, Jerry came to my house with a small envelope in his hand. He dropped it on the table and looked at me with pity in his eyes.

“Open it,” he said.

My hands shook as I tore the envelope. Inside were pictures. Pictures of Beatrice in Lagos, yes, but not at a business meeting. She was with another man, holding hands, smiling, looking at him the way she used to look at me.

My chest grew tight. My world fell apart in a second. The love I thought was mine had been shared with another. The bitter truth stood naked before me, and there was no excuse left.

When Beatrice came over that night, I asked her calmly, “Do you love me?”

She froze, her eyes betraying her before her lips moved. After a long silence, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

That was all she said. No explanations, no excuses. Just sorry. And with that, everything ended.

For days, I could not eat, I could not sleep. I replayed every memory in my head, every smile, every walk, every promise. I had built my future around her, but she had built hers somewhere else.

My friends stopped calling her “our wife.” They stopped visiting me too, because they knew the silence in my house was too heavy.

I walked past the places Beatrice and I once laughed together, and every corner carried her shadow. The truth was bitter indeed, and now it lived with me.

I loved her with all my heart, but love alone was not enough. In the end, she left me broken, staring at an empty seat across the table where she once sat smiling.

And that was how my story with Beatrice ended not with joy, not with forever, but with tears and a heart that may never heal.

Inviting @miztajovial to join the @therealtalkk community, and prompt.

The image used is mine.