Growing up in a toxic middle-class family in Asaba, Nigeria, I learned to rely only on myself. My father's constant yelling at my mother and her passive-aggressive comments towards me made me realize that love was a luxury I couldn't afford. 

He squandered his money on women, while my mother struggled to provide for me. I couldn't bear to ask for more, so I took matters into my own hands. 

At just 7 years old, I started a small trade, buying recharge cards in bulk and selling them to adults in my neighborhood. I did it in secret, praying that my father's girlfriends wouldn't discover me and snitch. 

“Recharge cards! Buy your recharge cards, fine uncle and aunties.” I’d shout. Some would ignore me, but others would stop and buy from me. I managed to make a decent profit, and it felt good to have some money of my own.

At school, I saw an opportunity to sell small chops to my classmates. I’d buy puff puffs, meat pies, and biscuits from the market and resell them during lunch break. My snacks were sweeter than the stores nearby, and soon, I had a loyal customer base. 

But at home, things only got worse. My father’s temper flared up again when my mother brought up his cheating habits, causing her to suffer a miscarriage after a brutal beating. That was the final straw.

She broke free from the toxic marriage, and we started a new life in Warri. A few years down the line, I got admitted to Delta State University and promised my mother that I would stay away from men who shared even the slightest character traits with my father.

Little did I know that I was in for a crazy ride. As I settled into university life, I thought I had finally left the toxic relationships behind. I focused on my studies, started a small business, and made new friends. But, as fate would have it, I met him—the charming, caring, and seemingly rich guy. 

At first, he showered me with love and surplus money, but it started to diminish a few months after our relationship. He would flare up at the tiniest mistake, curse me when I smiled at a guy, and question my every move. 

I thought his possessiveness was due to the fact that he loved me, but I later realized it wasn’t when he beat me up for talking to a male coursemate.

“You ungrateful idiot! After everything I have done for you! I brushed you up from nothing! You were nobody before I met you. And this is how you repay me by flirting with another man?!” He yelled at me.

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” I cried out, touching my bruised face. “I was just talking to him about a class assignment. And even if I was flirting, is that enough reason to beat me up?”

“You still have the mouth to talk back at me? If I descend on you with another dirty slap, your mouth will fall off!”

“I don’t blame you; what was I expecting from a gold digger?”

“A gold digger? Do you know who my father is?” I eyed him bitterly. 

He just laughed, a mocking sound to my ears. “Your father is somebody, and you were living like a church rat when I met you?” 

Tears stung my eyes, and I instantly regretted ever opening up about my childhood trauma to a man. What was I expecting? Of course, he would use my past against me.

“It’s not your fault; we are done!” I barked at him, and I grabbed my things to leave.

Before I could reach the door, he dragged me back with a force that sent shivers down my spine. "You think you can just walk away from me?" he snarled. 

“No woman dares to break up with me!” 

I struggled to break free, but he held me tight. "Let me go!" I shouted, trying to push him away. “You can break up with me back if your ego is larger than your head!” 

Just as I thought he would hit me again, his grip relaxed, and he sneered at me. "Fine, leave then. See if anyone else will put up with your nonsense. You'll come crawling back to me when you realize no one else wants a thing like you!”

I didn’t listen to him. I just went straight home and drowned in my pool of tears every single day till I summoned the courage to start my life again since it was exam period. 

It was sign-out day for the final-year students, and the whole campus buzzed with celebration. I had just finished my exam when I noticed a crowd gathering around something.

Normally, I would have minded my business, but a little prying wouldn’t hurt. Trust me, it did.

I pushed my way to the front, thanks to my height, but my heart stopped when I saw them.

Kneeling down and holding a small box, Michael proposed to a girl who had just written her final exam. My head started spinning, and the ground beneath me seemed like it was going to swallow me.

I staggered back in shock. How could he move on so quickly? How long have they been dating for him to propose? Was I a side chick all along?

No, if I was, he wouldn’t have been so possessive and controlling over my life.

Before I could make a scene, his friends grabbed me from behind and pulled me away from the crowd.

“Behave yourself.” The rugged-looking guy warned me. “Or else, we’ll deal with you.”

It took me a minute to notice the dagger on his side and a gun on the other guy’s back. The cult symbols on their wrists proved it all.

I have been dating a cultist all along. The thought of that sent a cold chill down my spine, and I quickly obeyed before leaving campus to avoid further trouble. 

A part of me was grateful for dodging a major bullet, while the other felt stupid for being a fool for love. 

Having no other means of dealing with my heartbreak, I headed to the club to distract myself. 

As I sat there nursing a drink, I could feel so many eyes on me from guys around, but I didn’t care as I was ready to bash a bottle on any guy that dared to come close.

I may have been stupid for love, but not enough to believe that I would find true love in a club. 

Regardless, a guy approached and tried flirting with me, but I wasn't having it. 

“If I were you, I’d leave me alone.”

“And why would I leave a pretty girl alone?”

“Because you won’t like the outcome.” I warned him, but he still persisted. 

His words were nothing but the annoying sound of mosquitoes singing in my ears, and when I took my eyes off him for a second, he slipped a drug into my drink. 

I grabbed the drink and threw it in his face, then bashed a bottle on his head. He fell to the ground, bleeding.

The bouncers rushed over and kicked me out of the club. I was the victim here, but those fools couldn’t see through it. 

“Bastards!” I cried as my blood boiled with anger. 

Just then, a deep masculine voice distracted me. "Hey, are you okay?" 

I turned to see an odd-looking guy standing next to me. 

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m just trying to help; you don’t look like you can stand on your own.” He pointed it out as I staggered. 

“Just tell me your address, and then I will take you home.” He questioned me and then flagged down a keke. 

I hesitated for a moment, but then got in. We drove to my house in silence. When we arrived, he made me a cup of tea and listened as I vented about my ex and the guy at the club.

As we talked, I only saw him as a potential friend since I needed time to heal and get my life back in order.

But you know what they say about no strings attached? A year down the line, I was already lost in love with him, despite his financial situation. 

He cared for me and never stressed me in any way. To me, it was the best I could settle for since the rich men turned out to be toxic. 

But the honeymoon phase of our relationship faded when he started constantly asking me for money to start his business. I hesitated, unsure if I should trust him. I was saving up for my service year and also needed to expand my business.

I didn't want to risk losing my money.

"I'll think about it," I told him.

But a few weeks later, after avoiding any topic about funding his business, he started acting up. 

“If you really loved me, you’d support me as a good girlfriend.”

“Do you want me to be broke forever? Don’t you know that if I hit it big today, I can invest millions into your business?” I wanted to believe that my relationship wouldn’t end up like the stories of the guy dumping his understanding girlfriend after a little cash in his name. 

“I don’t understand why you don’t trust me after a year of being together. I have never made you cry for once, but it seems like you are still in love with that ex of yours.” He complained.

“No, babe.”

“Please don’t say that. You’re far better than him, and I don’t regret the day that I ever agreed to this relationship.” I honestly replied.

“It’s just that 12 million naira is a lot of money for me to give you.” 

“It’s a good investment, baby. Do you know how much those gadget vendors make on a daily basis? Just believe in me, and I'll repay you the money in a year.” He promised.

I decided to give it some thought overnight, but as I pondered the issue, my phone buzzed with a notification.

Curious to know, I checked the message and discovered that it was a debit alert that came twice. 

I stared at my phone, my eyes wide with shock. “No, no, no!” My breath caught in my throat as I thought of the only person who knew my ATM pin. 

How could he do this to me?! Twelve million naira. Seven million naira. Nineteen million naira in total. Gone. Just like that.

I instantly dialed his number, waiting for an explanation, but the response showed that I had been blocked. I called and texted over and over again till it dawned on me. 

“Ah! Mogbe!” My hand settled on my head as I jumped, hot tears collapsing on my face. 

“God, why me?!” I fell to the ground, crying and raining curses on my already-ex-boyfriend. 

I didn’t even wait till morning came before rushing to his house, just to find a huge lock on it.

“Please, where is Chinonso? Have you seen him today?” I questioned his neighbors.

One of them said, “Nonso? Ah! Oga don travel o.”

"Landlord, kick me out since last week over house rent palava. I think he has been dey with you.” The other neighbor replied to me. 

“Travel? Go where?” I repeated.

“I nor kon know that one o.”

“Was it happened before?” 

“Nothing, thank you.” I forced a smile and left. 

Confusion followed my every thought as I prayed for the morning to come quickly, but as soon as I fell back to rest, another debit alert came.

One that wiped my account clean. 

Slowly, I counted the figures with shaky hands before my shock gave into weakness. My head felt light before my phone fell to the ground, and my body soon joined.

“Madam, you’re awake.” My eyes gradually opened to take note of the hospital room I was in. 

“How did I get here?”

“A good Samaritan brought you in last night.” 

Without giving me the chance to process, her face beamed with a smile, and I wondered what gave her so much joy in my terrible condition.

“Congratulations!”

“On what?” I arched my brow, looking lost.

“You’re four weeks pregnant.” My blood ran cold, and her words rang multiple times in my head.

“Preg what?!”

“Pregnant.” This time, her smile faded into confusion. 

How could this be? I didn’t want to carry the child of that wicked guy.

“No, this can’t be happening.”

“Nurse, I’m not pregnant. My period finished just yesterday.” I protested.

“Things like that happen." She looked at me with concern. “I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t stress yourself out about your condition.” 

My ears stopped working as she continued. All I could think of was how I could either pick up the broken pieces of my life as a single mother or end my life and that of my child. 

The latter seemed like the best option at hand for me, but what if I survived and the child came out deformed? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. 

Still thinking of a way out, the supposed Good Samaritan walked in, and the nurse introduced us to each other.

A neat-looking guy dressed in trad, scented in Creed, and sporting a warm smile. He exuded an old-money vibe, but I have had my fair share of rich men to care. 

As he extended his hand, I shook it, still trying to process the events of the past few hours.

"My name’s Emmanuel," he said. "I'm the one who brought you to the hospital. I found you unconscious on the street."

I nodded, still trying to piece together the pieces of my memory. "Thank you so much,”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I was madly worried when I brought you here, but I’m glad that you’re okay.”

I was far from okay, but he couldn’t see it. 

“Don’t worry about the hospital bills; I have already sorted it out.” 

“Thank you.” I mouthed again, expecting him to leave me alone, which he did.

But he showed up a few hours later with food and gifts to cheer me up.

“I heard the news of your pregnancy, and from your reaction, you didn’t seem happy.” 

"Baby, daddy, disappointment?” My body shuddered as he asked. 

I wasn’t too comfortable opening up after the last two men used it against me, so I only revealed surface information.

I expected him to judge me, but he didn’t. 

“Sometimes, you've got to kiss frogs to meet your Mr. Right.” He joked.

“Too bad that I don’t see my Mr. Right in sight.” My heart was officially closed for love bookings until further notice. 

My next days at the hospital were spent with his constant visitations, and the day I found out that I would be discharged, I drank a substance that led to my miscarriage. I wanted it to take my life as well, but God had other plans lined out for me.

After running into a room filled with blood, Emmanuel stayed by himself for months and years. 

Never for once did he blame me for the death of my baby, and he eventually reimbursed the money that Chinonso stole from me.

It felt like God had finally remembered me again, but I was still scared to let another man care for me, to the point where I believed it was love.

Two years later, Emmanuel proposed to me on a cold night during our vacation in Bora Bora. I saw the sincerity, love, and kindness in his eyes, and I knew I had finally found my Mr. Right.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

His face lit up with joy as he placed the ring on my finger and kissed me deeply. We got married a year ago and were blessed with four beautiful children a year later.