A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
PART 5
The courtroom was cold.
Grace sat stiffly on the wooden bench, her fingers clutching the edge of the seat as the judge’s voice echoed through the sterile room.
"Divorce granted."
Two words. That was all it took to end eighteen years of marriage.
Beside her, Michael sat with his head bowed, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. Their three children—Sarah, Daniel, and little Joy—were huddled close to him, their faces streaked with silent tears. None of them looked at her.
Grace’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might crack her ribs.
Outside the courthouse, Michael approached her, his eyes red-rimmed.
"Grace," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "It’s not too late. We can stop this."
She turned away, but he caught her wrist gently.
"Please," he begged. "For the kids. For us."
For a fleeting moment, Grace hesitated. She remembered the way he used to smile at her in the mornings, the way he’d pull her close during cold nights.
But then Pastor Gideon’s voice slithered into her mind:
"He’s trying to trap you again. Don’t fall for it."
She yanked her hand away.
"It’s over, Michael."
His face crumbled.
Despite everything, Michael didn’t fight her.
Out of love—or maybe guilt—he gave her everything:
- 50 million naira
- A fully furnished house in a quiet estate
- A brand-new car
Their lawyer read out the terms, his voice monotone. Grace should have felt victorious. But all she felt was empty.
When it came to the children, the judge asked them one by one:
"Who do you want to live with?"
Sarah, her eldest, didn’t hesitate. "Daddy."
Daniel, her sensitive middle child, wiped his nose and nodded. "Daddy too."
Little Joy, only six years old, clutched her father’s leg and whispered, "I want Daddy."
Grace’s breath left her lungs in a rush, as if she’d been punched.
They didn’t choose me.
Her new house was beautiful.
Spacious. Quiet. Empty.
Grace wandered through the rooms like a ghost, her footsteps echoing off the polished floors. She slept in the middle of the king-sized bed, drowning in the silence.
At night, she cried until her throat was raw, until her pillow was soaked.
She missed Sarah’s laughter. She missed Daniel’s bedtime stories. She missed Joy’s tiny arms around her neck.
Most of all, she missed him.
But it was too late.
Pastor Gideon visited often, his smile wide and reassuring.
"You’ve done the right thing, Sister Grace," he said, patting her hand. "God is testing your faith. Stay strong."
He brought her scriptures about "new beginnings" and "breaking chains." He told her the children would understand one day.
But when he left, the loneliness swallowed her whole.
One evening, as she scrolled through old photos on her phone, Michael called.
Her finger hovered over the answer button.
Pastor Gideon’s warning rang in her ears:
"If you go back, you’ll regret it. He’ll never change."
She let the call go to voicemail.
That night, Grace dreamed of her old life.
She was in the kitchen, cooking while Michael hugged her from behind, his lips brushing her neck. The children were laughing in the living room.
When she woke up, the house was dark.
And she was alone.
The weight of her mistake crashed down on her.
What have I done?
Days bled into weeks.
Grace stopped wearing makeup. Stopped cooking. Stopped caring.
The money, the house, the car—none of it mattered.
One afternoon, she found Sarah’s hair ribbon tucked in her purse. She pressed it to her face, inhaling the faint scent of her daughter’s shampoo, and broke down.
She wanted to call Michael. To beg for forgiveness.
But pride—and the pastor’s voice—held her back.
Pastor Gideon called her to his office.
"Sister Grace," he said, his voice dripping with false concern. "I’ve been praying for you. God has shown me your next steps."
He slid a document across the table.
"Donation to the church’s new building project."
The amount: 30 million naira.
Grace stared at it, her stomach churning.
For the first time, she wondered—
Was this his plan all along?
TO BE CONTINUED...
A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
PART 5
The courtroom was cold.
Grace sat stiffly on the wooden bench, her fingers clutching the edge of the seat as the judge’s voice echoed through the sterile room.
"Divorce granted."
Two words. That was all it took to end eighteen years of marriage.
Beside her, Michael sat with his head bowed, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. Their three children—Sarah, Daniel, and little Joy—were huddled close to him, their faces streaked with silent tears. None of them looked at her.
Grace’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might crack her ribs.
Outside the courthouse, Michael approached her, his eyes red-rimmed.
"Grace," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "It’s not too late. We can stop this."
She turned away, but he caught her wrist gently.
"Please," he begged. "For the kids. For us."
For a fleeting moment, Grace hesitated. She remembered the way he used to smile at her in the mornings, the way he’d pull her close during cold nights.
But then Pastor Gideon’s voice slithered into her mind:
"He’s trying to trap you again. Don’t fall for it."
She yanked her hand away.
"It’s over, Michael."
His face crumbled.
Despite everything, Michael didn’t fight her.
Out of love—or maybe guilt—he gave her everything:
- 50 million naira
- A fully furnished house in a quiet estate
- A brand-new car
Their lawyer read out the terms, his voice monotone. Grace should have felt victorious. But all she felt was empty.
When it came to the children, the judge asked them one by one:
"Who do you want to live with?"
Sarah, her eldest, didn’t hesitate. "Daddy."
Daniel, her sensitive middle child, wiped his nose and nodded. "Daddy too."
Little Joy, only six years old, clutched her father’s leg and whispered, "I want Daddy."
Grace’s breath left her lungs in a rush, as if she’d been punched.
They didn’t choose me.
Her new house was beautiful.
Spacious. Quiet. Empty.
Grace wandered through the rooms like a ghost, her footsteps echoing off the polished floors. She slept in the middle of the king-sized bed, drowning in the silence.
At night, she cried until her throat was raw, until her pillow was soaked.
She missed Sarah’s laughter. She missed Daniel’s bedtime stories. She missed Joy’s tiny arms around her neck.
Most of all, she missed him.
But it was too late.
Pastor Gideon visited often, his smile wide and reassuring.
"You’ve done the right thing, Sister Grace," he said, patting her hand. "God is testing your faith. Stay strong."
He brought her scriptures about "new beginnings" and "breaking chains." He told her the children would understand one day.
But when he left, the loneliness swallowed her whole.
One evening, as she scrolled through old photos on her phone, Michael called.
Her finger hovered over the answer button.
Pastor Gideon’s warning rang in her ears:
"If you go back, you’ll regret it. He’ll never change."
She let the call go to voicemail.
That night, Grace dreamed of her old life.
She was in the kitchen, cooking while Michael hugged her from behind, his lips brushing her neck. The children were laughing in the living room.
When she woke up, the house was dark.
And she was alone.
The weight of her mistake crashed down on her.
What have I done?
Days bled into weeks.
Grace stopped wearing makeup. Stopped cooking. Stopped caring.
The money, the house, the car—none of it mattered.
One afternoon, she found Sarah’s hair ribbon tucked in her purse. She pressed it to her face, inhaling the faint scent of her daughter’s shampoo, and broke down.
She wanted to call Michael. To beg for forgiveness.
But pride—and the pastor’s voice—held her back.
Pastor Gideon called her to his office.
"Sister Grace," he said, his voice dripping with false concern. "I’ve been praying for you. God has shown me your next steps."
He slid a document across the table.
"Donation to the church’s new building project."
The amount: 30 million naira.
Grace stared at it, her stomach churning.
For the first time, she wondered—
Was this his plan all along?
TO BE CONTINUED...
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