A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
PART 1
Grace wiped her hands on her apron, the scent of fried plantains still lingering in the air. The kitchen was warm, the way her husband, Michael, liked it. Eighteen years of marriage had taught her that—just like she knew he preferred his tea with two sugars and a splash of milk. Little things. The kind of things that should have bound them closer, but instead, they had become silent reminders of the distance between them.
She glanced at the clock. 8:47 PM. Michael was late again.
Not that it was unusual. His construction business had been demanding more of his time lately, and Grace understood. At least, she told herself she did. But understanding didn’t stop the loneliness from creeping in, didn’t stop the quiet resentment from settling in her chest like a stone.
The front door clicked open, and Michael’s heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway.
"You’re late," Grace said, not looking up as she arranged his plate on the table.
"Traffic," he mumbled, loosening his tie.
She wanted to say more. Wanted to ask why he hadn’t called, why he hadn’t texted. But the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she watched as he sat down, his eyes fixed on his phone, fingers scrolling mindlessly.
"The food’s getting cold," she said softly.
Michael grunted in response, finally setting his phone aside. He took a bite, chewing slowly, his mind clearly somewhere else.
Grace sat across from him, picking at her own food. The silence between them was thick, suffocating. It hadn’t always been like this. Once, they used to talk for hours—about dreams, about their daughter, Sarah, about everything and nothing. Now, it felt like they were two strangers sharing a meal out of obligation.
"You forgot to pay the electricity bill," Grace said, breaking the silence.
Michael frowned. "I thought you handled that."
"I did last month. You said you’d take care of it this time."
A sigh. "Grace, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. You couldn’t just remind me?"
Her grip tightened around her fork. "I shouldn’t have to remind you, Michael. This is your house too."
He rubbed his temples, exhaustion lining his face. "Can we not do this tonight? I’m tired."
Tears pricked at the corners of Grace’s eyes, but she blinked them away. This was how it always went. A small issue, a minor misunderstanding, and instead of fixing it, they let it fester. Like cracks in a wall, ignored until the whole structure threatened to collapse.
She wanted to scream. Wanted to shake him and say, "We’re slipping away! Don’t you see it?" But she didn’t. Because maybe he didn’t see it. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough to try.
Instead, she stood, taking her plate to the sink. "I’m going to bed," she whispered.
Michael didn’t respond.
Upstairs, Grace sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her wedding photo on the nightstand. They looked so happy then. So, in love. Where had they gone wrong?
Was it the long hours at work? The missed anniversaries? The way they stopped holding hands in public. Or was it the slow, painful erosion of communication—the assumption that love alone would carry them through, even when they stopped trying?
She picked up her phone, scrolling absently until she saw a notification from Pastor Gideon’s weekly sermon: "God’s Plan for Your Marriage."
Her finger hovered over the link. Maybe… maybe he had answers. Maybe he could help her understand why her marriage felt like it was crumbling over things that should have been so easy to fix.
With a deep breath, she clicked on it.
Little did she know that one click would change everything.
TO BE CONTINUED...

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