Four years ago, I accepted a random friend request from a guy on Facebook. At the time, it didn’t mean anything. I barely looked at his profile or even thought about it again. It was just one of those casual clicks people make without expecting much. Months turned into years, and that friend request stayed there quietly—until about five months ago when he suddenly sent me a message. That simple “Hi” turned into a conversation, and that conversation soon became something I started looking forward to every day.
We chatted about everything—life, work, and dreams. He told me he was a radio presenter at a nearby station. I didn’t believe him at first, but when I listened to the station he mentioned, I heard his voice on air. That made him more real to me. The fact that he lived nearby also made things easier. He started dropping by after work or meeting me at little cafes in the area. He was charming and full of words. He could talk for hours without running out of things to say.
I was single then, and he said he was too. I didn’t see any reason to doubt him. He made me laugh and listened when I talked. After a few weeks of friendship, he asked me to be his girlfriend. He said he wanted something serious, something genuine. He told me I was different, that I made him feel peaceful, that I had the kind of heart he had been searching for. I don’t know if it was the way he spoke or the confidence in his voice, but I believed him. I said yes.
That’s when things started changing. He began inviting me to his house every other day. At first, I kept saying no. I wasn’t comfortable. I had grown up being cautious, and I didn’t think it was right to go to a man’s house so soon. But he was persistent. He’d say, “If you really love me, you’ll visit me.” Eventually, I gave in. When I finally went, I was shocked. His house looked abandoned—dust everywhere, broken furniture, and no sign of comfort. When I asked him about it, he told me he was renovating and temporarily staying with his uncle. I tried to believe that, though deep down, something didn’t feel right.
That same day, he tried to get intimate. I told him no. I made it clear that I had never been with a man and that I wanted to wait until marriage. He laughed softly at first, but later, his tone changed. He told me I was being unfair to him, that if I truly loved him, I would show it. Each time I stood my ground, he became colder. What hurt me most was when he said, “Maybe you don’t love me as much as you say.” His words stayed in my head, and I began to question myself.
Then came another side of him—the one that always needed something. He started asking me for money. It began small: food here, transportation there. Then it grew. He would call and say he hadn’t eaten all day and needed help. When I said I didn’t have money, he’d get angry. He once accused me of lying and demanded proof. Out of guilt and frustration, I sent him a screenshot of my bank balance to show that I really had nothing. But it was never enough. I kept giving until I started feeling drained—emotionally and financially.
Two months into the relationship, after countless moments of pressure and guilt, I finally gave in to him. I thought it would make him happy, that maybe he’d stop seeing me as the girl who always said no. But not long after, I missed my period. I panicked. I took a test. It was positive. I sat there staring at the lines on that test kit, my heart pounding. I didn’t even know how to feel—fear, shame, regret, everything mixed into one.
When I told him, his reaction surprised me. He wasn’t angry. He said we’d figure it out together, that he would support me no matter what. For a moment, I believed him again. But as the days passed, his tone changed. He started saying he didn’t think we were ready for a child. I agreed. I was terrified of becoming a mother. I didn’t even have the strength to tell my family. We both decided that ending the pregnancy was the only option.
I asked him to come with me to the hospital, but he refused. He said he was too busy at work. Then he added something that still stings when I remember it: “You’re a nurse. You can handle it.” Those words broke me. I didn’t have the money for a proper medical procedure, so I turned to unsafe methods. I handled everything on my own. Afterward, I bought blood tonics to help myself recover because there was no one else to look after me. He promised he would send me money to cover the cost. I’m still waiting for that money.
Now, months later, he hardly speaks to me. He no longer calls. If I don’t text him first, we go weeks without contact. I feel like I gave everything—my trust, my body, my heart—and he walked away without a trace of guilt. Sometimes I wonder if he ever truly cared or if I was just another story for him to tell his friends. I’m left feeling empty, betrayed, and confused. I don’t know if I should reach out again, demand the money he promised, or simply disappear and try to heal.
My first intimate experience, something I thought would be filled with love and connection, became the source of my deepest heartbreak. I thought I was starting a real relationship, but all I ended up with was pain, silence, and a memory I wish I could erase. Now, every time I think of him, I feel a quiet ache in my chest—a reminder that sometimes, love isn’t what it seems, and trust can become the very thing that breaks you.
Four years ago, I accepted a random friend request from a guy on Facebook. At the time, it didn’t mean anything. I barely looked at his profile or even thought about it again. It was just one of those casual clicks people make without expecting much. Months turned into years, and that friend request stayed there quietly—until about five months ago when he suddenly sent me a message. That simple “Hi” turned into a conversation, and that conversation soon became something I started looking forward to every day.
We chatted about everything—life, work, and dreams. He told me he was a radio presenter at a nearby station. I didn’t believe him at first, but when I listened to the station he mentioned, I heard his voice on air. That made him more real to me. The fact that he lived nearby also made things easier. He started dropping by after work or meeting me at little cafes in the area. He was charming and full of words. He could talk for hours without running out of things to say.
I was single then, and he said he was too. I didn’t see any reason to doubt him. He made me laugh and listened when I talked. After a few weeks of friendship, he asked me to be his girlfriend. He said he wanted something serious, something genuine. He told me I was different, that I made him feel peaceful, that I had the kind of heart he had been searching for. I don’t know if it was the way he spoke or the confidence in his voice, but I believed him. I said yes.
That’s when things started changing. He began inviting me to his house every other day. At first, I kept saying no. I wasn’t comfortable. I had grown up being cautious, and I didn’t think it was right to go to a man’s house so soon. But he was persistent. He’d say, “If you really love me, you’ll visit me.” Eventually, I gave in. When I finally went, I was shocked. His house looked abandoned—dust everywhere, broken furniture, and no sign of comfort. When I asked him about it, he told me he was renovating and temporarily staying with his uncle. I tried to believe that, though deep down, something didn’t feel right.
That same day, he tried to get intimate. I told him no. I made it clear that I had never been with a man and that I wanted to wait until marriage. He laughed softly at first, but later, his tone changed. He told me I was being unfair to him, that if I truly loved him, I would show it. Each time I stood my ground, he became colder. What hurt me most was when he said, “Maybe you don’t love me as much as you say.” His words stayed in my head, and I began to question myself.
Then came another side of him—the one that always needed something. He started asking me for money. It began small: food here, transportation there. Then it grew. He would call and say he hadn’t eaten all day and needed help. When I said I didn’t have money, he’d get angry. He once accused me of lying and demanded proof. Out of guilt and frustration, I sent him a screenshot of my bank balance to show that I really had nothing. But it was never enough. I kept giving until I started feeling drained—emotionally and financially.
Two months into the relationship, after countless moments of pressure and guilt, I finally gave in to him. I thought it would make him happy, that maybe he’d stop seeing me as the girl who always said no. But not long after, I missed my period. I panicked. I took a test. It was positive. I sat there staring at the lines on that test kit, my heart pounding. I didn’t even know how to feel—fear, shame, regret, everything mixed into one.
When I told him, his reaction surprised me. He wasn’t angry. He said we’d figure it out together, that he would support me no matter what. For a moment, I believed him again. But as the days passed, his tone changed. He started saying he didn’t think we were ready for a child. I agreed. I was terrified of becoming a mother. I didn’t even have the strength to tell my family. We both decided that ending the pregnancy was the only option.
I asked him to come with me to the hospital, but he refused. He said he was too busy at work. Then he added something that still stings when I remember it: “You’re a nurse. You can handle it.” Those words broke me. I didn’t have the money for a proper medical procedure, so I turned to unsafe methods. I handled everything on my own. Afterward, I bought blood tonics to help myself recover because there was no one else to look after me. He promised he would send me money to cover the cost. I’m still waiting for that money.
Now, months later, he hardly speaks to me. He no longer calls. If I don’t text him first, we go weeks without contact. I feel like I gave everything—my trust, my body, my heart—and he walked away without a trace of guilt. Sometimes I wonder if he ever truly cared or if I was just another story for him to tell his friends. I’m left feeling empty, betrayed, and confused. I don’t know if I should reach out again, demand the money he promised, or simply disappear and try to heal.
My first intimate experience, something I thought would be filled with love and connection, became the source of my deepest heartbreak. I thought I was starting a real relationship, but all I ended up with was pain, silence, and a memory I wish I could erase. Now, every time I think of him, I feel a quiet ache in my chest—a reminder that sometimes, love isn’t what it seems, and trust can become the very thing that breaks you.
