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...

"I lost my mom at 12. A year later, my dad got married. She came with 2 kids, aged 14 a boy & a 16 year-old daughter. We lived together in the house, with me being the youngest.

I wasn't exactly maltreated, but I was being discriminated against by her children, who always got the best of everything. Growing up in that house was complicated. I did all the cooking & chores, which was a relief compared to what could have been worse - physical abuse. I ate daily meals, though not equally portioned like her kids - they got bigger pieces of meat and extra helpings. I convinced myself it was cuz I was the youngest.

However, my stepmom's behavior changed slightly when I started excelling in school. She would: Compare my grades to her daughters', Limit my study time, saying "house chores won't do themselves" Make subtle comments like "You think you're smarter than my girls?"
Despite this, I still respected her as my dad's wife and the mother of my household. Years passed, & my dad retired from his job. In a shocking move, he agreed with my stepmom to stop funding my education, citing "financial constraints. Despite that i was the most brilliant one in the house.

I was 22 & had to drop out of college to support myself & also helping stepmom in her restaurant business. That's when I met my husband - a rich, kind man who asked for my hand in marriage. My stepmom initially rejected him, saying I was "too young" & offered her older daughter instead. But he insisted on marrying me. When he approached dad, he agreed to our union. The day of my wedding, Stepmom called me into a private room & tearfully apologized for how she had treated me.

I forgave her, & we started Afresh. For over a year, we lived happily. She'd visit me often, helping with advice & support, especially when I became pregnant. Later on, after giving birth to my son, my stepmom visited, with the initial plan to stay with me for at least 6 months helping with nighttime feedings & caregiving tips. But 3 days ago something terrifying happened... While holding my 4-week-old b"by, my stepmom claimed she was "extremely sleepy" & accidentally dropped her. My son was rushed to the hospital, where doctors administered: Oxygen therapy, Phenobarbital to prevent any seizures. Thankfully, my baby is fine now...

A week before this incident, I walked into the kitchen to find my stepmom preparing my baby's bath water - it was scalding hot!. But all she could say was she "forgot" to test the temperature with her hand before putting the b"by in. Luckily, & thank God I intervened just in time, & my baby was unharmed. So now I'm really confused & consumed by doubts: If my stepmom's actions are truly accidental, or actually intentional or could it be just an act of carelessness & if i should still allow her to stay & help for the remaining 5 months, or could my bæby's safety be at risk? Please, help! kindly guide me through this.

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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 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...