The Woman I Thought Was An Angel: chapter 1
Written by
Sir Emmanuel.E
This story is 🚫 not against any gender, it's just a story to entertain you
It starts from chapter 1--6.
Please read to the 🔚
Enjoy.
The first time I saw Ada, she was praying.
Not the loud, show-off kind of prayer people do on Instagram live. The quiet one. Head bowed, eyes closed, hands folded in the front row of RCCG, Port Harcourt. The sun was cutting through the church windows and it landed right on her face like God Himself was giving her a spotlight.
I was 35. Tired of Lagos. Tired of women who asked me “what do you do” before “how are you.” fake girls with their attitude,I had just came back home , because I have a boy that stays at my shop and my aunty dragged me to church that Sunday.
As we were inside church, my sister whispered
“God will give you a wife here,” nudging me.
I laughed. But 10 minutes later, I wasn’t laughing anymore because I saw a damsel coming to the altar, her beauty is breathtaking.
Ada stood up to take announcements. Simple white dress. No makeup. Bible in her hand. Voice soft but sure.
“Good morning, brethren. The women’s fellowship will be having a prayer walk on Saturday. Please come and let us seek the face of God for our city.”
The whole church said "Amen". I said "Amen" too. But I was looking at her.
After service, I waited by the gate like a secondary school boy. When she came out, I fumbled my greeting.
“Good morning. I’m Chinedu. I… I liked your announcement.”
She smiled. That smile. Small, calm, godly.
“God bless you, brother. My name is Ada. Nice to meet you.”
That was it. That was the beginning.
---
For 2 years, I chased Ada like she was the last bus in port Harcourt .
I drove her to church. I waited for her after midweek service. I bought her devotionals. I sat in marriage counseling with Pastor Mike even when we were just "friends in Christ."
Ada was different. Or at least, that’s what I believed.
She didn’t post bikini pictures. She didn’t go to clubs. Her status was always Bible verses. "Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." "A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband."
Her friends called her "Sister Ada, the prayer warrior." The church mothers loved her. "This one will make a good wife," Mama Eze told me one day. "She’s born again. Grounded."
And I wanted that. I was tired of the noise. I wanted a home. Peace. A woman who would pray with me and not fight me over money.
On our wedding day, 300 people came. White and gold. She looked like an angel descending. As I slid the ring on her finger, I whispered, “I will love you and take care of you all the days of my life.”
She cried. I thought they were tears of joy.
For the first year of marriage, it felt like heaven.
I worked hard. My shop was growing. I bought her a car. I paid her tithe and my own. I came home every evening. No side chicks. No drinking. My boys called me "pastor husband."
“Chinedu, you’re blessed o,” my friend Tunde said. “Your wife dey cook, dey pray, dey respect you. Wetin else you want?”
Nothing. I wanted nothing else.
Ada would wake me up at 5am for prayers. She made jollof on Sundays. She called me "Daddy" in public and "my king" at night.
I thought I had found the Proverbs 31 woman.
---
The change was small at first.
A new phone. "It was a gift from the women’s fellowship," she said.
Late nights. "We’re having an all-night for the youths."
Perfume I didn’t buy. "The pastor’s wife sprayed it on me after prayer."
I didn’t ask questions. A man who trusts his wife doesn’t interrogate her like a criminal. Right?
Then the messages started coming.
It was 2:17am. My phone was on charge and hers was on the bedside table. It vibrated.
WhatsApp: Unknown Number - "Baby, when are you coming to see me? I miss that thing you do to me."
My chest went cold.
I picked up the phone. My hand was shaking. Ada was asleep beside me, breathing peacefully like an angel.
I opened it.
Pictures. Videos. Messages from 3 years ago. Before we married.
"Come to the hotel at Aba Road. Same room."
"Send me 50k and I’ll spend the night."
"You’re the best ashawo I’ve had. Men beg to see you."
Ashawo(prostitute)
The word hit me like slap.
I scrolled. There were dozens of men. Clients. Sugar daddies. Some of them were even in my church now. Deacons. Workers.
And the last message, sent 6 months before our wedding:
"I’m done with this life. I met a man. He’s born again and rich. He thinks I’m a virgin. I’m going to marry him and be a pastor’s wife. Pray for me."
The number was saved as "Client 7".
I looked at Ada. Sleeping. Peaceful. The woman I prayed with. The woman I built my life around.
My wife.
The room was quiet except for the AC. But in my head, it was loud. So loud.
All the prayers. The "I’m a virgin." The "I’ve never kissed a man before." The testimony she gave on stage about "how God delivered me from sin."
All lies.
I didn’t wake her. I put the phone down. I went to the sitting room and sat in the dark till morning.
At 6am she came out in her nightie, Bible in hand.
“Good morning, Daddy. Let’s pray.”
She smiled that same church smile.
And I smiled back. Because I didn’t know what else to do.
Because the man who loves his wife, who cares for her, was now married to a stranger.
Read episode 2
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