She didn’t die, she left

I’m a nurse. A mother of two boys. And for fifteen years, I carried a marriage on my back.

I work on the Island and sleep at my workplace. My children school there too, so we stayed together during the week. Every weekend, I went home with foodstuff, cash, and care.

Because the man I married? Did absolutely nothing. No job. No ambition. No shame.

I paid the rent. Handled school fees. Fed the house. Clothed the children. Clothed him. And still gave him a weekly allowance.

I did everything. He did nothing. And yet—I protected him.

I paid for him to learn skills. Took him to Ojuelegba to learn how to make blinds. He went for a while… then stopped. I tried again. Different jobs. More chances. He never followed through.

I didn’t stay because I was weak. I stayed because I believed. I thought one day, he’d rise. That things would turn. But the only thing turning was me round and round in the same circle of false hope.

When I got admission to further my nursing career, he got angry. Said school would affect how I “ran the home.” We fought. A lot. But I still went. Because I had to grow for myself and my sons.

Then things got harder. School fees shot up by 120%. Food prices rose. My own fees drained me. I couldn’t afford to keep giving him allowance. So I told him. Not out of wickedness. But because I had nothing left to give.

That’s when things started disappearing. One weekend, I got home and the generator was gone. He said, “It’s small. You’ll buy another one. I trust you.” Then the freezer. The gas cylinder. One by one he sold the house dry.

Still I didn’t leave. I believed he was just under pressure. Until the day I found out the truth.

He was doing hard drugs.

That was the final break. All those years I was building, he was slowly destroying everything from the inside.

When I confronted him, he beat me. Mercilessly.

Then said, “You caused it. You changed. You stopped giving me money.”

So I rented a new apartment on the mainland. Quietly. I packed my things. Took my children. And left.

That’s when the gaslighting began.

He called me wicked. Said I was evil for taking “everything.”

“You could’ve left the things. You can buy new ones.”

That’s what he told me. As if I hadn’t already bought and paid for everything we had.

Even his family called. Said I was trying to destroy him. Asked, “Where do you expect him to start from?” Said I was proud. Inconsiderate.

One even said maybe the children weren’t his because no woman just walks away like that.

They didn’t know the man I lived with. They only knew the lies he told.

They didn’t know he’d sold off furniture for drug money. Or that he hadn’t lifted a finger for 15 years.

They didn’t know how much I shielded him.

I never even had a proper conversation with my mother about it. But the way I protected him… No one dared to talk.

Neighbors. Family. Friends. Everybody knew. But nobody said a word.

Because I made sure they couldn’t.

Even when I left, he said, “You’re no longer the woman I married. People have started teaching you things.”

Imagine that.

Even his own family said, “If someone had told us this would happen, we wouldn’t have believed. She’s not that kind of woman.”

They were right. But everyone has a breaking point.

Now? He says he wants one plot out of the two plots of land I own. As compensation for “standing by me” for 15 years.

His words: “I can’t wait 15 years for nothing.”

I used to protect him. Even from himself.

But now? All I feel is relief.

A man who drains you for 15 years and calls you evil for leaving isn’t your husband. He’s your burden.

Staying quiet isn’t loyalty when it’s destroying you. Leaving isn’t wickedness. It’s wisdom. Survival. Freedom.

I left with my boys. My name. My peace. And that’s more than enough to start again.

I’m not evil. I’m not proud. I’m done.

And I’m finally free.

This is for every woman still carrying a man she should’ve dropped long ago.

You’re not wicked for walking away.

You’re wise.

You’re allowed to choose you.

She didn’t die. She left. And that was the beginning.