A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
PART 4
The house was too quiet.
Grace sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the rim of her morning coffee cup, the steam long gone. Michael had left early again—another "business meeting." But this time, something felt different. Her stomach twisted in knots, and no matter how hard she tried to shake it off, the feeling clung to her like a shadow.
She picked up her phone, scrolling mindlessly until a message notification popped up.
It was from an unknown number.
Her breath hitched as she opened it.
"Your husband and his secretary look so cozy together at the Silver Spoon Café. Thought you should know."
Attached was a photo—Michael sitting across from his young, beautiful secretary, their heads close together as they smiled over documents.
Grace’s hands trembled.
She didn’t remember driving to Michael’s office.
All she knew was the burning in her chest, the way her pulse roared in her ears. She burst through the doors, ignoring the startled receptionist, and marched straight to his office.
And there they were—Michael and her—standing close, the secretary laughing at something he said.
Grace saw red.
"Grace? What are you—" Michael started, his eyes widening as she stormed in.
"Who is she?!" Grace screamed, pointing at the secretary.
The young woman stepped back, her face paling. "Mrs. Thompson, I—"
"Grace, calm down!" Michael moved between them, his hands raised. "This isn’t what you think!"
"Then what is it?!" Her voice cracked, raw with betrayal. "Another business meeting? Another late night? How long has this been going on?!"
Michael’s jaw tightened. "Nothing is going on! We were just going over contracts!"
Grace let out a bitter laugh. "Contracts? Is that what you call it now?"
She lunged forward, shoving him hard. Michael stumbled back, shock flashing across his face.
"Grace, stop!"
But she couldn’t. The rage, the hurt, the months of loneliness—it all erupted. She grabbed the nearest thing—a glass paperweight—and hurled it at the wall. It shattered, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence.
The secretary screamed, scrambling out of the room.
Michael grabbed Grace’s wrists, his grip firm. "Grace, enough! You’re acting crazy!"
"*Crazy?!" She wrenched free, tears streaming down her face. "You’ve been lying to me! You’ve been cheating on me!"
"I haven’t!" Michael’s voice broke. "Grace, please—just listen to me!"
But she didn’t want to listen.
She couldn’t.
The ride home was a blur.
Michael followed her, pleading the entire way, but Grace barely heard him. All she could hear was Pastor Gideon’s voice in her head:
"If you stay, you will die."
When they got home, the children were there—their three beautiful babies, their faces filled with confusion and fear as they watched their parents scream at each other.
"Daddy? Mommy?" little Sarah whispered, her eyes wide with tears.
Grace’s heart shattered.
But she couldn’t stop.
She packed her bags that night.
Michael begged on his knees, his voice broken. "Grace, please… Don’t do this. I love you. We love you."
The children cried, clinging to her legs. "Mommy, don’t go!"
Grace closed her eyes, her hands shaking as she zipped up her suitcase.
Pastor Gideon’s words echoed louder.
"God wants you free."
She turned away, walking out the door without looking back.
When she arrived at the church, Pastor Gideon welcomed her with open arms.
"Sister Grace," he said, his voice dripping with false warmth. "You’ve done the right thing. God is pleased."
He patted her back, his smile wide. "This is your new beginning."
Grace nodded, but deep down, beneath the numbness, a voice whispered:
What have I done?
That night, alone in the small apartment the pastor had arranged for her, Grace sat on the edge of an unfamiliar bed, staring at her phone.
There were 17 missed calls from Michael.
32 messages from the kids.
And one voicemail—Sarah’s tiny, broken voice:
"Mommy… please come home."
Grace pressed a hand to her mouth, choking back a sob.
For the first time, she wondered—had she made the biggest mistake of her life?
TO BE CONTINUED...

A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
PART 3
Grace stood in the kitchen, her hands shaking as she stared at the text on her phone. It was from Michael—short, cold, like always.
"Working late. Don’t wait up."
She had spent all afternoon preparing his favorite meal—peppered snail soup with fresh bread. The table was set, candles lit, the house smelling of spices and warmth. She had wanted to talk, to finally tell him how lonely she felt. How much she missed him.
But now, the food would go cold. Again.
Her fingers hovered over her phone. She wanted to type, "Please come home. We need to talk." But she knew what his response would be—silence. Or worse, annoyance.
She took a deep breath and called him instead.
The phone rang three times before Michael answered. In the background, she could hear laughter, glasses clinking. A restaurant.
"Grace, I said I’m working," he muttered, his voice tight with irritation.
Her heart pounded. "You’re not at the office."
A pause. Then a sigh. "I had a business dinner. I didn’t think I needed to explain every little thing to you."
Little thing. Those words cut deep. To her, it wasn’t little. It was another night alone. Another night where she felt invisible in her own marriage.
"Michael…" Her voice cracked. "I made dinner. I wanted us to talk. We—we can’t keep living like this."
Another pause. Then, "Grace, not now. I’ll be home late."
And just like that, he hung up.
Grace stood there, the phone still pressed to her ear, the dial tone buzzing like a taunt.
When Michael finally came home, hours later, Grace was waiting.
The candles had burned out. The food was untouched.
He walked in, loosening his tie, barely glancing at her as he headed for the stairs.
"Michael," she said, her voice trembling. "We need to talk."
He stopped, exhaling sharply. "Grace, it’s midnight. Can’t this wait?"
No. It couldn’t.
"Every time I try to talk to you, you push me away," she whispered, tears spilling over. "Do you even love me anymore?"
Michael turned, his face unreadable. "This again? Grace, I’m tired. I work all day, and I don’t need this drama when I come home."
Drama.
That word shattered something inside her.
"This isn’t drama!" she cried. "This is our marriage! You don’t talk to me, you don’t spend time with me—I feel like a ghost in my own house!"
Michael’s jaw tightened. "What do you want from me, Grace? I provide for you. You have everything!"
Everything except his love.
Grace wiped her tears, her breath coming in shaky gasps. "I want my husband back."
For a second, something flickered in Michael’s eyes—guilt? Regret? But then it was gone, replaced by cold indifference.
"I don’t have time for this," he said, turning away.
And just like that, he walked upstairs, leaving her standing there, broken.
Grace didn’t sleep that night.
By morning, her eyes were swollen, her heart raw. She needed someone to talk to. Someone who would listen.
So she went back to the only person who seemed to care—Pastor Gideon.
In his office, Grace cried as she told him what happened.
Pastor Gideon listened, nodding sympathetically. Then he leaned forward, his voice grave.
"Sister Grace… I fear for your life."
Grace froze. "What?"
He sighed, shaking his head. "A man who treats his wife this way… it’s not just neglect. It’s spiritual warfare. The devil is using him to destroy you."
Grace’s hands trembled. "But—but what do I do?"
Pastor Gideon placed a hand over hers. "God is telling me… if you stay, you will die in that house. Not just your heart—your life."
Grace gasped, her blood running cold.
"The Bible says, ‘Come out from among them and be separate.’ You must leave, Sister Grace. Before it’s too late."
Her mind spun. Leave Michael? After eighteen years?
But the pastor’s words sank deep, feeding her fears.
You will die if you stay.
That evening, Pastor Gideon "coincidentally" ran into Michael at a charity event.
"Brother Michael!" he greeted warmly, clapping him on the back. "How are you, my friend?"
Michael, unaware of the pastor’s conversations with Grace, smiled. "Doing well, Pastor. Keeping busy."
The pastor sighed sympathetically. "I actually wanted to speak with you. Your wife came to me recently… she’s been struggling."
Michael’s smile faded. "Grace?"
Pastor Gideon nodded. "She’s… very emotional. I’ve been counseling her to find peace in God’s word. Marriage is sacred, after all."
Michael relaxed, grateful. "I appreciate that, Pastor. She’s been… difficult lately."
The pastor smiled, hiding his deceit behind holy concern. "We’ll keep praying for you both."
Meanwhile, Grace sat at home, staring at her wedding ring, wondering if removing it would save her life—or destroy it.
TO BE CONTINUED...

BREAKING NEWS:
A CURE FOR HIV/AUDS HAS JUST BEEN FOUND
A cure for HIV could be a step closer after researchers found a new way to force the virus out of hiding inside human cells.

The virus’s ability to conceal itself inside certain white blood cells has been one of the main challenges for scientists looking for a cure. It means there is a reservoir of the HIV in the body, capable of reactivation, that neither the immune system nor drugs can tackle.

Now researchers from the Peter Doherty Institute for Infection and Immunity in Melbourne, have demonstrated a way to make the virus visible, paving the way to fully clear it from the body.

It is based on mRNA technology, which came to prominence during the Covid-19 pandemic when it was used in vaccines made by Moderna and Pfizer/BioNTech.

In a paper published in Nature Communications, the researchers have shown for the first time that mRNA can be delivered into the cells where HIV is hiding, by encasing it in a tiny, specially formulated fat bubble. The mRNA then instructs the cells to reveal the virus.

Globally, there are almost 40 million people living with HIV, who must take medication for the rest of their lives in order to suppress the virus and ensure they do not develop symptoms or transmit it. For many it remains deadly, with UNAids figures suggesting one person died of HIV every minute in 2023.

It was “previously thought impossible” to deliver mRNA to the type of white blood cell that is home to HIV, said Dr Paula Cevaal, research fellow at the Doherty Institute and co-first author of the study, because those cells did not take up the fat bubbles, or lipid nanoparticles (LNPs), used to carry it.

The team have developed a new type of LNP that those cells will accept, known as LNP X. She said: “Our hope is that this new nanoparticle design could be a new pathway to an HIV cure.”

When a colleague first presented test results at the lab’s weekly meeting, Cevaal said, they seemed too good to be true.

“We sent her back into the lab to repeat it, and she came back the next week with results that were equally good. So we had to believe it. And of course, since then, we’ve repeated it many, many, many more times.

“We were overwhelmed by how [much of a] night and day difference it was – from not working before, and then all of a sudden it was working. And all of us were just sitting gasping like, ‘wow’.”

Further research will be needed to determine whether revealing the virus is enough to allow the body’s immune system to deal with it, or whether the technology will need to be combined with other therapies to eliminate HIV from the body.
#HIVawareness #HIV #hivprevention #hivcure

“I NEVER PLANNED TO DATE YOU.
I WAS TAUGHT NEVER TO EAT FROM ANOTHER MAN'S PLATE.

Look, Ade has always been like a brother to me. Back in the day—before all the fame, during his YBNL hustle—he’d casually say, ‘Senior bro, I dey eye that babe o.’ I knew he was talking about Simi. The way he said it, I could tell the feelings were real. So I respected that.

It's just bro code. You don’t go after a woman your guy already made his intentions clear about." – Falz opens up to Simi about their past.

New way to go

BREAKING NEWS: Reason Why Antelopes Commit Suicide After Their Partner Dies.

The dik-dik is the tiniest antelope species. They prefer to live in couples and are most frequently observed in the desert areas of Eastern and Southern Africa.

Diki-diks can run up to 42 kilometers per hour in order to outrun predators like lions, leopards, and cheetahs. It’s incredible that every member of this species commits suicide after separating from their mate.

It is typical for the surviving companion to die soon after the first, whether through natural calamities or attacks by animals. Family members are typically the most dependable people you will ever encounter in terms of loyalty.

When someone commits suicide, they give their body to a cannibal.

Dik-diks frequently kill themselves after losing a loved one because of the excruciating agony they go through and the social isolation that follows. When a woman has just given birth, this tradition is scrupulously observed. Most children don’t genuinely feel ready to live apart from their parents until they are grownups.

They are so easily destroyed by other creatures that the warden dik-diks estimate their lifespan to be little over four years. Furthermore, gloves are made inhumanely, requiring contact with the skin of these creatures.

Video Of Wike 'Kabashing' Casting & Binding as His Private Jet Develops Fault Mid-air

A viral audio clip is currently making rounds online, claiming that FCT Minister Nyesom Wike experienced a mid-air scare while on a private jet—allegedly due to engine failure at cruising altitude (~34,000 ft). In the recording, a voice believed to be that of the FCT minister can be heard shouting in prayers as the pilots were struggling to balance the plane.

The voice was yelling “Satan you are liar! Father father! Oh Jehovah. Blood of Jesus. Father it is time to prove your self. Jesus you are in charge. — Ohhhh Jehovah. Father!! Satan is a liar. Father save my soul, save my soul, save my soul. Ohh my father Oh my father!”

The voice sounds exactly like the FCT Minister’s voice. In the Bombardier GE jet 5000/6000. Which costs around ₦15bn. From every indication, the jet was chartered.

According to the same report, this private jet—a Bombardier Global Express (alleged ₦15 billion value)—encountered a sudden engine malfunction. Panic ensued in the cabin, and the minister reportedly became overwhelmed with fear, allegedly to the point of soiling himself, necessitating a change of clothes

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