I walked.
No destination. Just steps.
One foot in front of the other like maybe, if I kept going, the pain wouldn't catch up.
But it always did.
Every corner I turned, every shadow I passed, it was there—clinging, screaming, whispering.
Why?
Why would Alvin do this to me?
Why would he smile so tenderly at another woman, kiss her like she was the only one he ever knew?
Weren't we in love?
Was it all pretend?
Was I always pretending with him?
Those questions circled in my head like vultures around a corpse I wasn't ready to bury yet.
After two hours of wandering through Y-City's streets, I found myself in front of Hilton Hotel.
The venue.
Where they were celebrating.
Where he was celebrating.
I didn't plan what happened next. I just acted.
I booked a room.
Half my monthly salary—gone.
But I needed to get closer. I needed answers.
In the hotel room, I showered and put on the only dress I had: a simple form-fitting brown dress that hugged me like comfort. Paired it with flat sandal heels. Nothing dramatic. But on me… it still looked like a statement.
I stood in front of the mirror and whispered, "So what if one Alvin left you? You're still pretty. Still smart. Still a masterpiece."
I smiled.
A sad, sarcastic, melancholic smile.
The kind you wear when you're trying to survive your own heartbreak.
By 5:15 p.m., I walked down to the venue area. Couldn't get past security without an invitation, so I stood there, pacing, unsure what next.
And then, I heard it.
"Kim?"
I turned.
Michael.
Of all people.
He smiled like someone who hadn't seen me in years. "Long time no see."
I shrugged. "Life happened."
We stared at each other for a moment, long enough to feel history tug at us.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
I paused. What should I say?
I came to catch my boyfriend marrying another woman?
I came to confront betrayal in heels and a forced smile?
"I came for the wedding," I said instead.
"Oh cool. The bride's my cousin."
God bless fate.
"Really? I forgot my invitation. Can I walk in with you?" I asked quickly.
He squinted, suspicious, then nodded. "Okay. Who are you here for?"
"…Alvin," I replied, and dropped my eyes.
We walked in and took a seat.
At 6:08 p.m., Afrobeat thundered through the speakers as the bridal party entered—dancing, spinning, laughing. Lights everywhere. Colors blinding.
The bride glowed.
Then came the groom.
Alvin.
Dressed like a prince. Smiling like he hadn't shattered a heart that very morning.
I clenched my fists.
My body moved before my brain could stop it. I stood up—ready to walk straight to him and slap the memory out of his head.
Michael touched my hand. "Are you okay?"
I snapped back to reality. Sat down.
Breathed.
Once. Twice. Again.
When the MC started talking, I didn't listen. My head was busy plotting. I needed to get Alvin alone.
And then it happened.
He whispered something to his bride, stood up, and stepped out.
I followed.
He walked into the men's restroom. I waited outside.
Ten minutes later, he emerged.
And stopped in his tracks. Shocked.
"Well hello, Mr. Groom," I said, voice soaked in venom.
"What are you doing here?"
I folded my arms. "If I didn't come, how would I know?"
He bowed his head.
"Why, Alvin?" I asked, softer now. "Why did you do this? Why didn't you tell me? Am I a joke to you?"
Silence.
"Don't I deserve answers?"
He looked up.
"I'm sorry. Juliana is pregnant. My parents forced me."
I blinked.
Everything inside me stilled.
"…How far in?"
"Four months."
Four months.
We'd been together almost eight.
So he didn't just betray me. He cheated. Lied. Played me.
"Did you even love me?" I asked.
"I do. Don't doubt that, Kim."
I scoffed. "Then why cheat on me?"
He sighed. "You wouldn't let me touch you. A man has needs. When I came home and Juliana—"
I raised a hand. "Did she force you?"
"No, but—"
"When I said I wasn't ready, you said you'd wait."
"I was already sexually active before you. It was hard to suddenly stop—"
Gaslighting.
Bold, shameless gaslighting.
"How many times, Alvin? How many women?"
He said nothing.
And that silence told me everything.
I looked at the man I once called home and realized I'd been a guest in someone else's.
"But why marry her?" I asked finally. "Pregnancy isn't enough."
He hesitated. Then mumbled, "She was betrothed to me since childhood."
I froze.
My vision blurred—not from tears, but pure emotional overload.
So even our love was a lie?
I was the other woman?
The mistress?
The one on the side—without even knowing?
I turned. Walked away. Didn't say a word.
What more was there to say?
I'd been played by love. Betrayed by trust.
I handed my heart over and he put it in someone else's bridal bouquet.
And the worst part?
I saw it coming.
But I wanted to believe.
I wanted to stay.
I wanted to not run.
But now?
Now I was forced to run. Again.