His name is Dayo. We were together for four years. Four good years! I stayed when he had nothing.
I borrowed money for his rent. I gave him my ATM card more times than I can count. When people mocked me for “dating a broke guy”, I told them they didn’t understand his potential.
One was a University of Lagos fresher who got pregnant.
The other was his so-called “best friend.” I saw chats. I saw nudes. I saw voice notes where he was mocking me to her.
I snapped. This was both a heartbreak and a humiliation. I didn’t cry. I wept!
A friend of mine introduced me to a guy who “handles things quietly.” He called him his “loyal agbero.”
I told him I wanted Dayo beaten, not killed. Just beaten enough to leave a message. Something he’d feel in his bones. Something he’d remember anytime he tried to play with another woman’s life.
I paid ₦50k equivalent to GH₵345.22
The plan was simple: catch him on his way back from work and “teach him a lesson.”
That night, I waited for the call. I got it around 10 p.m. The guy just said, “We don do am. But wahala dey.”
Dayo was unconscious.
He hit his head on the pavement when they punched him, and started convulsing. By the time they ran, someone had already called an ambulance. He’s been in a coma for five days now.
I’ve not slept since. I feel so guilty. What if he died? I didn’t want that. All I wanted was revenge. I wanted him to feel the same pain he made me feel.
But I never wanted this. Now I’m the villain. Not him. Nobody cares what he did to me, only what I did to him.
And maybe they’re right. I should’ve just walked away.
Source: Pulse Nigeria
