I had always believed betrayal was something you read about in books or watched in Nollywood movies. But now, it was my life — raw, ugly, and painfully real. My best friend was pregnant for the man I loved.The weight of that truth pressed on me like a boulder. I avoided calls, ignored messages, and even shut myself off from my family. My mother noticed.“Amara, what is wrong with you these days?” she asked one evening as I sat staring blankly at my untouched plate of rice.I forced a smile. “Nothing, Mama. Just stress from work.”But mothers always know. Her eyes lingered on me, full of concern, but I wasn’t ready to tell her yet. How could I? How do you explain that the man you wanted to marry and the friend you trusted with your life had both betrayed you?

—Chioma’s Visit

It was Chioma who broke the silence. She came to my house unannounced, her belly still flat but her face pale.“Amara, please, we need to talk,” she pleaded as soon as I opened the door.My anger flared. “What more is there to say, Chioma? You slept with my boyfriend. You’re carrying his child. What explanation could possibly make sense?”She broke down in tears. “I never meant for this to happen. You know me, Amara. I didn’t plan it. It just—”“Don’t say it just happened!” I snapped. “You had choices. And you chose betrayal.”She sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. For a moment, my heart softened. This was still Chioma — the girl I’d shared everything with, the girl who once defended me against bullies, the girl who knew all my dreams.But then I remembered Tunde. And the child. My stomach twisted.“Leave, Chioma,” I said coldly. “Please, just leave.”

—Tunde’s Last Attempt

Days later, Tunde showed up at my office gate. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt wrinkled. He looked like a man falling apart.“Amara, please hear me out,” he begged, blocking my path.I glared at him. “You should be talking to Chioma, not me. She’s the one carrying your child.”“It was a mistake!” he cried. “I don’t love her, Amara. It happened in a moment of weakness. I only love you.”I shook my head, bitterness rising in my throat. “You don’t betray someone you love, Tunde. Love is sacrifice, not selfishness.”He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. For the first time, I saw him clearly — not the charming man who swept me off my feet, but a man whose weakness had destroyed everything.“This is the end,” I said firmly. “Don’t ever call me again.”

—Picking Up the Pieces

For weeks, I tried to focus on work. I threw myself into my tasks at the radio station, staying late just to avoid going home to my thoughts.But at night, the loneliness hit hard. I cried into my pillow, mourning not just the loss of love but also the friendship that had defined most of my life.Still, a part of me knew I had to move on. Life in Lagos didn’t stop for heartbreak. Bills still came. Work still demanded attention. And deep inside, I wanted to prove to myself that I could survive without them.

—A New Connection

One evening, as I was leaving the station, I bumped into David, a new colleague who had recently joined as a producer. He was tall, soft-spoken, and carried himself with quiet confidence.“Amara, you look tired,” he said kindly. “Can I buy you dinner?”I hesitated, but something about his warm smile disarmed me. I agreed.We ended up at a small restaurant in Surulere, eating suya and laughing over silly stories. For the first time in months, I felt light again.David didn’t pry into my life. He didn’t ask about Tunde or Chioma. He just listened, laughed, and reminded me that there was still kindness in the world.When he dropped me off, I caught myself smiling. A small, cautious smile. But it was there.