The woman I thought was An Angel : chapter 2
I sat in the sitting room with Ada’s phone on my lap. The screen light was the only thing in the dark. My heart was beating like a drum in my chest.
Client 7. Deacon Paul. Bro. Emeka - Choir. Pastor's Driver. Oga Tony - Oil.
34 contacts. 34 names.
And the messages under each one made me want to throw up.
I didn’t confront her. A man doesn’t shout when the house is on fire. A man finds out how big the fire is first.
So at 5am, when Ada went to the kitchen to make tea like nothing happened, I copied everything.
I opened my laptop and typed every single number into my notes. One by one. 34 of them. I took screenshots. I emailed them to myself.
My hands were shaking so bad I had to delete and retype twice.
“Chinedu, breakfast is ready,” Ada called from the kitchen. Her voice was sweet. Soft. Like the woman I married.
“Coming,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine.
That day I called in sick to work.
The moment she left for "women’s fellowship meeting", I started.
---
Call 1: Deacon Paul
He picked on the second ring. "Hello?"
“Good morning sir. This is... a friend of Ada’s. I found this number in her phone.”
Silence. Then a nervous laugh.
“Ah, Chinedu. How are you my brother? Ada is a good woman. A prayerful woman. What can I do for you?”
My blood boiled.
“Deacon, did you sleep with my wife before we married?”
The line went dead.
He blocked me immediately.
Call 2: Bro. Emeka - Choir Master
This one picked and was singing. "Hallelujah to the Lamb of God..."
When I asked him, the singing stopped.
“Brother Chinedu... see, that was a long time ago. Before she gave her life to Christ. We are all sinners. God has forgiven her. You should forgive too. Don’t let the devil use you.”
He hung up and sent me a Bible verse: Romans 8:1 - There is therefore now no condemnation...
Condemnation? I was the one being condemned.
Call 3: Oga Tony - Oil
This one laughed. Loud.
“Chinedu my guy! You don marry the baddest girl in PH! That girl sabi work. You dey enjoy her abi? No worry, that was before. She’s born again now. But if you ever need... you know... extra, call me. I can arrange.”
I ended the call and vomited in the bathroom.
One by one. 34 calls.
Pastor’s driver. Two elders. A youth leader. Three "businessmen" from church.
Not one of them denied it.
Some begged. "Please don’t tell my wife."
Some threatened. "Mind your business."
Some prayed for me on the phone. "God will strengthen you."
They all knew. The whole church knew.
The "Sister Ada, prayer warrior" was an open secret. And I was the last person to find out.
By 4pm my head was pounding. My chest felt like someone was sitting on it.
When Ada came back, I was on the floor in the sitting room.
---
“Chinedu! Chinedu what happened?”
Her voice was panicked. Real.
She dropped her bag and Bible and ran to me. Cold water. Fan. She called my sister. She called an ambulance.
At the hospital the doctor said "stress and exhaustion." BP was high. I was dehydrated.
“Your husband needs rest and peace of mind,” the doctor told her. “No pressure.”
Ada nodded, eyes red. “I will take care of him, doctor. I won’t leave his side.”
And she didn’t.
For 3 days I was on admission. IV drip in my arm.
And Ada... Ada was perfect.
She slept on the small chair beside my bed. She brought me soup. She bathed me with a towel when I was too weak. She read Psalms to me at night.
“Psalm 23. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...”
Her voice was steady. Her hand was cool on my forehead.
“God will heal you, my king,” she whispered. “The devil is fighting us because he’s jealous of our marriage. But we will win.”
I stared at her face. That innocent face. No guilt. No fear.
Was she acting? Or was this really her now? The "new creation" she testified about?
The nurses liked her. “Your wife is a gem,” one said. “She prays for everyone on this ward.”
And I lay there, sick, while the woman who lied to me played the perfect Christian wife.
On the third night, I woke up at 2am. She was asleep in the chair, Bible on her chest.
My phone was on the bedside table. It buzzed.
WhatsApp. Deacon Paul.
"How is he? Tell him we are praying. And please... delete those messages. For the sake of the church."
I didn’t reply. I just looked at Ada.
She shifted in her sleep and mumbled, “Jesus... cover my husband...”
That broke me.
I turned to the wall and cried. Silent crying. The kind that shakes your whole body but makes no sound.
Because I loved her. God help me, I still loved her.
Because I built my whole life on a lie, and now I didn’t know what was real.
Was the woman praying for me the real Ada? Or was the girl in those messages the real Ada?
Or were they both her?
When morning came, she woke up, saw my red eyes, and panicked again.
“Baby, are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t speak.
She leaned down and kissed my forehead.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. God brought us together for a reason.”
I closed my eyes.
The monitors beeped. The church WhatsApp group was blowing up with "Prayer points for Bro. Chinedu’s healing."
And the man who thought he married an angel was in a hospital bed, being nursed by the same woman, while her past called his phone.
Chapter 1 was love.
Chapter 2 was the truth.
I don’t know what Chapter 3 will be.
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