The day I finally accepted the truth was one of the most painful days of my life.
I had spent so long defending Mohammed.
Whenever someone questioned him, I found an explanation.
Whenever he disappointed me, I made excuses.
Whenever my instincts screamed, I told myself I was being paranoid.
I had done it because I wanted the relationship to work.
But love cannot survive on excuses forever.
Something happened that finally forced me to open my eyes.
I confronted Mohammed about the money again.
"I need you to pay me."
He became irritated.
"I already told you I'll pay."
"You've been saying that for too long."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Give me a date."
He laughed bitterly.
"You're putting pressure on me."
"Because it's my money."
"You gave it to me."
I stared at him.
"Yes. Because I trusted you."
He looked away.
That was when I knew.
Something had changed inside me.
I wasn't begging anymore.
I wasn't afraid of losing him.
I was angry.
Not the kind of anger that screams.
The kind that becomes quiet.
The kind that makes you finally see clearly.
I began asking questions I had avoided.
How much had I given him?
How much had he returned?
How much of my business had disappeared because of him?
How many times had I traveled to see him?
How many times had I sacrificed my own needs?
The numbers frightened me.
I had given far more than I could afford.
And what had I received?
Promises.
Excuses.
And affection that suddenly seemed to depend on what I could do for him.
I confronted him.
"I think you used me."
His face changed.
"Used you?"
"Yes."
He became angry.
"You're insulting me."
"I'm telling you how I feel."
"You're the one who gave me the money."
"Because I loved you."
He laughed.
That laugh broke my heart.
"Don't use love to make me feel guilty."
I stared at him.
I had never felt so small.
"So you don't care?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then show me."
He said nothing.
I knew then.
I knew my instincts had not lied.
Bathsheba had warned me.
My heart had warned me.
Even my circumstances had warned me.
I had simply refused to listen.
I decided to leave.
There was no dramatic goodbye.
No long speech.
No begging.
I simply told him,
"This is over."
He became furious.
"You think you can just leave?"
"Yes."
"What about everything?"
"I am leaving everything I gave you as a lesson to myself."
He stared at me.
Then I said the words that had been waiting inside me.
"But I want the money you borrowed."
His face hardened.
"I don't have it."
"You will pay me."
"I can't."
"You have to."
The money I had given him freely as gifts, I was willing to forget.
I didn't want to chase every small amount.
But the huge amount he had borrowed had destroyed my business.
I needed it back.
It wasn't just money anymore.
It represented the work I had lost.
The sacrifices I had made.
The trust I had placed in him.
He refused.
And his refusal changed everything.
Instead of apologizing, he attacked me.
He brought up my failed subjects.
The very things I had been ashamed of.
The things I had cried about.
The things I had spent years trying to overcome.
He used them against me.
"You couldn't even pass your subjects properly," he said.
I froze.
Then he went further.
He mentioned my family.
My painful childhood.
The trauma I had shared with him because I trusted him.
He turned my wounds into weapons.
I couldn't believe it.
The person I had told my deepest secrets to was now using them to hurt me.
I cried.
Not because his words were true.
Because I had trusted him enough to tell him.
I finally understood something.
Not everyone who listens to your pain deserves access to it.
Some people collect your weaknesses and wait until they need a weapon.
Mohammed had done exactly that.
I ended the conversation.
I walked away from him carrying a pain that felt different from heartbreak.
James had hurt me through distance and confusion.
Mohammed hurt me through betrayal and exploitation.
But the deepest pain came from knowing I had ignored myself.
I had seen the signs.
I had felt something was wrong.
I simply didn't want to believe it.
That night, I sat alone and thought about everything.
My failed business.
The money.
The lies.
The arguments.
The visits.
The sacrifices.
The way I had distanced myself from James.
I thought about how James had begged me not to leave him.
At the time, I had believed he was simply afraid of losing me.
Now I wondered whether I had been too quick to walk away.
But I also knew I couldn't return to him simply because Mohammed had disappointed me.
I needed to heal first.
For once, I needed to be alone.
Not because I was unwanted.
Because I needed to find myself again.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were swollen from crying.
I whispered,
"Bjei, you have to forgive yourself."
I cried harder.
I had spent so much time blaming myself.
Why did I give him the money?
Why did I trust him?
Why didn't I listen?
Why did I leave James?
Why did I allow myself to become so attached?
But I couldn't change the past.
All I could do was learn from it.
Mohammed had taken money from me.
He had taken my peace.
He had damaged my business.
He had insulted my wounds.
But there was one thing he couldn't take.
My ability to rise again.
And I promised myself that I would.
I didn't know how yet.
But I would.
Because I had survived my childhood.
I had survived rejection.
I had survived abuse.
I had survived heartbreak.
And now I was going to survive this too.
I wiped my tears.
For the first time, I wasn't thinking about how to make someone stay.
I was thinking about how to get myself back.