Dami sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone screen. Her hands trembled as she reread the text message for the hundredth time.
“I’m sorry, Dami. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve met someone else. Please understand.”
The words blurred as hot tears filled her eyes. Eight years. Eight long 
of sacrifice, love, and loyalty—discarded in a single text.
Her mind drifted back to when it all began.
***********
Dami met Femi in her final year at the University of Lagos. He was charming, ambitious, and full of dreams. Though he didn’t have much at the time, he spoke of a bright future, and Dami believed in him.
After graduation, Femi struggled to find a stable job. He dabbled in small businesses—importing phone accessories, selling cars on commission—but nothing seemed to work out. Dami, on the other hand, secured a well-paying job in a bank. Without hesitation, she supported him financially, believing that once he found his footing, they would build a beautiful life together.
She paid his rent, covered his bills, and even funded some of his business ventures. Each time he failed, she encouraged him to keep trying.
“You’re my king, Femi,” she would say, holding his hands. “I know you’ll make it one day.”
Femi would smile, kiss her forehead, and whisper, “And when I do, I’ll make you my queen.”
But love alone wasn’t enough.
*************
Dami lost count of the sacrifices she made for their relationship. The most painful were the three abortions.
The first pregnancy happened when she was 25. She was excited, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Femi would be ready to settle down. But when she told him, he panicked.
“Babe, I can’t be a father now. I’m still struggling. Please, let’s take it out,” he pleaded.
Dami cried, but in the end, she agreed. She loved him. She didn’t want to burden him.
The second time, it was the same story.
The third time, she hesitated.
“Femi, I’m almost 30,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “How long will I keep doing this? We can have this child and make it work.”
But Femi was adamant.
“If you love me, you’ll do this for me.”
And so, she did.
Each time, she told herself it was for the future they were building. Each time, she convinced herself that Femi would one day marry her, and all the pain would be worth it.
************
Dami’s world came crashing down on a quiet Sunday evening. She had spent the entire weekend at Femi’s apartment, cooking his favorite dishes, washing his clothes, and enjoying their time together.
She noticed he had been distant lately, always on his phone, stepping out to take mysterious calls. But she ignored the signs.
That evening, she stumbled upon a wedding invitation on his bedside table.
***********
The wedding was set for the following month.
Her hands shook as she turned the card over, hoping it was a joke, a mistake. But the truth was right in front of her.
When Femi walked in and saw her holding the invitation, his face paled.
“Dami, I was going to tell you…”
“How could you?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He sighed, rubbing his hands together. “I didn’t plan for this to happen. My parents arranged it. Tolu’s father is a big politician. This marriage will help my career.”
Dami felt like she had been stabbed in the chest.
“What about me? After everything I’ve done for you?”
Femi looked away. “I appreciate everything, but I have to do what’s best for my future.”
That was when she realized the truth. She had been nothing more than a stepping stone for him.
**************
For weeks, Dami was a shadow of herself. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. The heartbreak consumed her. Her friends urged her to take revenge, to expose him. But she was too broken to fight.
Instead, she focused on healing.
She quit her job at the bank and started a new career in real estate, something she had always been passionate about but never pursued because she was too busy supporting Femi.
Slowly, she rebuilt herself.
Months later, she heard that Femi’s marriage was already crumbling. His new wife was nothing like her—she refused to fund his dreams, refused to tolerate his excuses.
One evening, Femi called her.
“Dami, I miss you,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “Can we meet?”
She smiled sadly. The old Dami would have agreed, would have run back to him at the first sign of remorse.
But she was no longer that woman.
“I’ve moved on, Femi,” she said, ending the call.
As she stared at the sunset, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—peace.
She had lost eight years, but she had gained something even greater.
Herself.