Brian was fed up with our marriage. I couldn’t really blame him, but the question that kept ringing in my head was, how did we get here?

Brian and I met in high school. I was part of the popular group, known for my gymnastics and cheerleading skills. My grades were okay, except for maths. Brian, on the other hand, excelled in all subjects, starred in theatre plays, and was a devout Christian. His confidence and constant smile made it seem like he had life figured out.

I admired him from a distance, often smiling when our paths crossed. He always returned the smile, though we never actually spoke. I loved that Brian noticed me; it meant a lot. I silently hoped he might ask me to prom or a Christian fellowship dinner in our final year.

One week, Brian didn’t show up at school. On Friday, I finally asked during lunch, “Hey guys, what’s up with Brian? I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“Who’s Brian?” Rachael asked.

“Brian, the brainy actor, church boy,” Liam responded. “I heard he moved towns and changed schools.”

“Good for him, but why do you even care, Elly?” Rachael said.

“What’s wrong with asking about a classmate? You should try to be more thoughtful sometimes,” I replied, trying to hide my disappointment.

The conversation moved on, but that night, I cried myself to sleep. All my final year dreams of spending time with Brian were shattered. Life continued, and soon high school and college were over.

I dreaded A-level results day, especially my maths grade. To my surprise, my grades were okay, and I secured a place studying psychology at the University of Uldresa, close to home.

In my first year, a mandatory math course loomed. After my first class, as I walked down the corridor, I heard someone call my name. I kept walking, but then I heard, “Eliora James turned and saw him—Brian. My heart skipped a beat, then raced uncontrollably. He was taller, more handsome, and that familiar smile melted my heart all over again. I felt a rush of emotions—joy, relief, excitement. Without thinking, I ran to him, and we embraced. The hug was warm and tight, filled with unspoken words and years of longing. In that moment, it felt like no time had passed, and all the pain of our separation vanished.

Brian could have gone to any Ivy League university, but he chose the University of Uldresa to be close to his family after losing his dad.

Our friendship blossomed. With Brian’s help, I aced maths. He introduced me to Jesus, and we served together in the campus fellowship. Our friendship was the envy of many. We studied, prayed, and hung out together.

In our final year, Brian invited me out. As I arrived at the restaurant, I thought I had the wrong place. It was elegant. Brian stepped out, wearing a velvet shirt in my favorite color—purple. He looked so handsome, I felt butterflies in my tummy.

“B, I am so underdressed,” I said as he hugged me.

He laughed. “El, you are always dressed fancy, always so beautiful.” I blushed, and we went in.

That night was beautiful. Brian’s smiles and looks of admiration were louder than words. It was clear he wanted more, but I decided to play it cool. Brian started being more intentional about me, initiating visits to each other’s homes and discussing family life and the future.

On our graduation day, Brian went all out. As we stood among our friends and family, he suddenly dropped to one knee. My heart pounded as he looked up at me, his eyes filled with love and determination. “Eliora, will you marry me?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly. Tears welled up in my eyes as I nodded, unable to speak. He had already gotten my parents’ blessing, and now, in front of everyone, he was making me the happiest person alive. “Yes,” I finally whispered, my voice choked with emotion. My forever crush was now my man, and we got married a year later.

Two years into our marriage, our daughter Grace was born. She was beautiful, independent, and loved the theatre. Asher was born a year later, a strong-willed sportsman.

Brian and I were deeply in love with each other and with God. This shared faith made it easier to apologize and forgive, so we rarely stayed angry for long. Our home was a haven of love and joy.

One Saturday, after breakfast, I sat down to relax and scrolled through my Instagram feed. I saw a familiar face—Alice. She was a classmate in sixth form, arrogant and reckless. Yet here she was, with a million followers, a prominent husband, and three popular kids. I started following her obsessively, wanting to find flaws in her life.

Over the next few days, I found myself obsessively scrolling through Alice’s profile, each picture and post deepening my sense of inadequacy. The more I watched her seemingly perfect life, the more discontent I became with my own. I began to resent the simplicity of my life with Brian and the kids, yearning for something more glamorous. In my pursuit of an unattainable image, I started pushing Brian away, criticizing him for not being enough. I lost sight of who I was, and in the process, I lost the warmth and love that had once filled our home.

I fell into the wrong crowd, leading to late nights, unsanctioned travels, and neglect of my family. An accident during one of these trips left me hospitalized for nine months and paralyzed in one leg. My family, whom I had mistreated, cared for me, while my new friends vanished.

The accident felt like a wake-up call from God. I sought His mercy and healing, hoping to restore my family. Though my family showed compassion, Brian had lost the spark in his eyes. I apologized repeatedly, but our relationship remained strained. Brian stopped sleeping in the same bed once I could move unassisted.

One night, I mustered the courage to talk to Brian. “Can we talk?” I asked, my voice trembling. He brushed me off, his eyes cold and distant. At dinner, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Brian, are we still married?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. He laughed bitterly, “You tell me.” .His words cut deep, and I realized I had become a stranger to him. Desperate and broken, I cried out to God, tears streaming down my face. “Please, Lord, give me the wisdom to win my husband back,” I prayed, clinging to the hope that our love could be restored.

As the year drew to a close, I attended a Christmas carol service and unexpectedly ran into an old family friend. Overwhelmed with emotion, I poured out my story to her. She listened intently and promised to pray for the restoration of my home. She also referred me to a Christian marriage counsellor.

After two months of therapy, Brian finally agreed to join me. It was a small but significant step forward. With cautious optimism, I held onto the hope that, with time and God’s guidance, our home could be restored. Each day, I prayed for healing and the rekindling of the love we once shared, trusting that our journey was far from over.

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