My colleague wanted to sell his car to offset his ₦1.8m house rent. Downgrade to something smaller. His wife said she would buy the car. “You will buy my car? Where did you see money?” he asked her. She said, “My brother raised ₦6 million for me last year to start a business. I fixed the money.” “And I wasn’t aware? You still collect ₦100k from me every month to take care of yourself?” It’s been two weeks now since he left the house. He said he is no longer interested in the marriage.

My girlfriend asked me one strange question three weeks before our wedding. “Would you still marry me if you found out I had been lying to you?” I laughed. I thought she was joking. “Depends on the lie.” She didn’t laugh. Instead, she looked down at her coffee and whispered, “That’s what I’m afraid of.” I asked her what she meant. She changed the subject. For the next three weeks, she became distant. She stopped leaving her phone on the table. She started taking calls outside. She’d smile at messages and immediately lock her screen when I walked into the room. I didn’t accuse her of cheating. I wanted to trust her. Then, five days before the wedding, I found a hotel receipt in her car. Two nights. Paid in cash. I confronted her. “Who were you with?” She started crying. “Please don’t ask me that.” That answer hurt more than any confession could have. “Were you cheating on me?” She shook her head. “Then tell me the truth.” “I can’t.” “Why?” “Because if I tell you, you’ll hate me.” I walked out. I didn’t call her that night. The next morning, she sent me one message: “Meet me at the hotel.” I almost didn’t go. But I did. When I arrived, she was standing outside one of the rooms. She handed me an envelope. “Open it.” Inside was a photograph. It was me. Sitting at a restaurant. With another woman. My face went pale. “What is this?” She started crying. “You don’t remember her?” I stared at the photograph. Then I realized something. I did remember her. She was my mother. The mother I’d told my fiancée had died when I was sixteen. My fiancée looked at me. “She’s alive, isn’t she?” I couldn’t speak. She pulled another photograph from the envelope. This one showed my mother. Standing beside a little boy. A boy who looked exactly like me. Except he was about six years old. She whispered: “You didn’t just lie about your mother.” “You lied about having a brother.” I sat down. And suddenly, her strange question three weeks before the wedding made perfect sense. She wasn’t asking whether I’d forgive her for lying. She was asking whether I’d forgive myself for lying first.

My sister is 30, her boyfriend is 29. He promised her marriage and she was so excited. The guy kept telling her his parents were into “oil and gas.” So she thought this man came from serious money. 😂 Until the day he took her home to meet them. His mum sells palm oil. His dad owns a small gas-filling kiosk. My sister just looked at me like: “Technically, did he lie?” 😭😂