By Owie Aideyan
The Marriage That Looked Perfect on Paper
I married Emeka when I was 28. Everyone said I was lucky. He was well-off, gentle, God-fearing, and responsible. We had a big wedding. Our photos made the blogs. People said we were a perfect match. But here’s the truth I never admitted until now:
I never felt butterflies for Emeka. Not once.
He was kind, yes. He respected me. But passion? Fire? Emotional connection? It was missing from day one. I thought it would come with time. That I could grow into love the same way one grows into a new pair of shoes. But years passed, and all I felt was gratitude—not desire.
I became the “dutiful wife.” I cooked, smiled at family functions, attended church with him. But at night, I would lie awake wondering what it felt like to be chosen with urgency, held with hunger, seen with soul.
And then… his best friend moved back to Nigeria.
Enter Tunde—The Man I Should Have Met First
Tunde had been Emeka’s childhood friend. They grew up together in Ibadan, then he moved to the UK for over a decade. I’d seen his photos. Emeka spoke of him often. But I never thought he’d shake my entire life.
The first time we met was at a surprise birthday dinner I threw for Emeka. Tunde walked in, tall, warm, magnetic. Our eyes met, and I swear—something shifted. Something neither of us acknowledged that night, but both of us felt.
In the weeks that followed, he visited more. Emeka was thrilled—his friend was back, and they were reconnecting. But I… I was terrified. Because Tunde didn’t just see me. He read me. He noticed things Emeka never had. The way I played with my necklace when anxious. The way my voice dropped when I was tired. He asked questions Emeka never thought to ask: “What’s your dream?” “What did you love doing before life got so serious?”
And for the first time in years, I felt alive.
The Line Between Loyalty and Longing
We never kissed. We never touched inappropriately. But emotionally? We crossed every line. He would text late at night. We’d talk for hours about everything—books, music, regrets, fears. I began to laugh more, glow more. Emeka noticed. “You’re happier these days,” he said. And I hated myself for what I knew he didn’t know.
Tunde never said he loved me. But his silence screamed every time we were alone. Once, we were washing dishes after dinner while Emeka was outside taking a call. Our hands touched under the water. We froze. He looked at me and said, “If I met you before he did…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.
I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. But I also wanted to stay right there, forever, with someone who finally saw me.
The Breaking Point
One night, Emeka and I had a terrible fight—over something trivial, like toothpaste or trash. But I was already emotionally depleted. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried like I hadn’t in years.
I texted Tunde: “I can’t keep pretending.”
He replied: “Say the word, and I’ll take you away.”
And in that moment, I saw the fork in the road. I could leave. I could start over. I could finally chase the passion I’d only dreamed of.
But then I thought about Emeka—faithful, flawed, but good. I thought about our families, our vows, our shared life. And I realized: just because something feels right doesn’t mean it is.
I deleted the message thread. Blocked Tunde. Told Emeka we needed counseling. I never told him why. And maybe that’s my cross to bear.
Love Is a Choice, Not Just a Feeling
Today, I’m still married. Emeka and I have rebuilt—not a fairy tale, but something real. I learned that love isn’t always about fireworks. Sometimes it’s about forgiveness, endurance, and choosing each other every day—even when someone else’s voice still lingers in your mind.
Do I still think about Tunde? Yes. Sometimes when it rains, or when a song plays we both loved. But I’ve learned to live with it—like a scar you stop hiding.
My confession isn’t about infidelity—it’s about emotional truth. About how easy it is to drift, how dangerous it is to feel unseen, and how powerful it is to fight for what’s yours.
If you’re reading this and struggling with temptation, ask yourself: Is it love or is it escape? Passion or projection?
The hardest choice I ever made was to stay. And the bravest thing I ever did was to fall in love again—with the man I married.
This is my truth. Raw. Complicated. Beautiful. And real.
