For Zainab* (27), rushing into a new relationship after her first love fell apart felt like a bold, grown-up move. But what was meant to be her happily-ever-after quickly spiralled into a nightmare. In this story, she shares how a rebound marriage led her into the most painful chapter of her life, and how she found her way out.
This is Zainab’s Story, as told to Mofiyinfoluwa
No one tells you how moving on from an ex the wrong way ends up hurting you more than the person you’re trying to get over. I married the wrong man to prove a point, and it nearly cost me everything.
I met my ex-boyfriend, Hamza, in secondary school. We lived in the same area but didn’t talk until we became classmates. He became my childhood crush and, eventually, my closest friend. We didn’t start dating until I got into university in 2019. Distance was our biggest hurdle from the start — I was schooling in the north, and he was in the west. It strained our connection. We argued often, broke up and got back together repeatedly. It was an unhealthy cycle.
Even though we’d break up, his mum always sided with me. She genuinely liked me and would call me to fix things with her son. In 2021, after yet another breakup, I ran into his mum at an event. She urged me to call him. I did, and he said he needed space. Three months later, when my grandmother passed away, I called Hamza first. He travelled down and stood by me at the funeral. Still, I could tell from how he looked at me that whatever we shared was truly over. We never spoke again after the funeral. I didn’t reach out either, because I had met someone else.
Mubarak* looked like everything I thought I wanted. I won’t lie — I was drawn mainly by his appearance. He was a light-skinned, smooth talker who was very intentional about marriage. I thought I had stepped up from Hamza. Looking back, that was the beginning of my mistake. Mubarak wasn’t intelligent or even emotionally available. But he was ready to settle down, and I also wanted that. We dated for a year and got married in 2022. I had just turned 24, and he was 29. Unlike our courtship, marriage was hell from the beginning.
We moved closer to where Mubarak’s family lived, and that’s when it became clear that his mother didn’t like me. I’d always suspected she didn’t like me — she had refused to speak to me on the phone when we started dating, and once fought with her son just because he travelled to visit me. But each time, Mubarak downplayed it, insisting she’d come around. Living nearby removed all the blinders. I saw how she ran the family with an iron grip, and because she didn’t approve of me, the entire family kept their distance. He was a textbook mama’s boy. If we agreed on something and she disagreed, we had to change it. She said we were too young to be left alone, so we lived close by, where she could monitor us. Since Mubarak wasn’t financially stable, his mother used her support as leverage. I became the wife who collected beans and groundnut oil from her in-laws to cook. I wasn’t raised that way, but I told myself I was enduring temporary suffering for a brighter future. I didn’t know I was slowly losing myself.
Emotionally, he tore me apart. He constantly reminded me that it was against religion for me to be more successful than him. I studied Pharmacy, but he wanted me to teach at a primary school. When I started learning fashion design, he refused to give me money and found ways to delay my classes. He also compared me to his exes and told me in detail how much better they were sexually, even though I was a virgin when we married. Every time I complained to his family, they reminded me I was lucky to have married such a “fine boy.” That was their only selling point.
We fought almost every day. We could argue because I hadn’t greeted his parents in two days. I couldn’t say I was tired. I had to constantly perform as the “good wife,” even when I was exhausted. Through it all, Mubarak still found time to cheat. I knew I had to leave when he became open about a woman abroad and dropped hints of a second wife. I filed for divorce in early 2024. Our marriage barely lasted two years.
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The divorce was messy. Mubarak told everyone I cheated, disrespected him and was impossible to live with. His parents didn’t even try to help. My parents begged them to intercede, but they refused. He married another wife before our divorce was final. I later realised she was his ticket out of Nigeria.
The whole experience shattered me. I cried every day and hated myself. But through it all, my family never left my side. They supported me financially and emotionally. I eventually relocated to Lagos to start again.
Months after I relocated, I ran into Hamza again at the mosque, of all places. We laughed about old times, and he offered his condolences about my failed marriage. He had somehow heard everything because our families maintained close ties.. He joked about getting back together since we were both single, but I brushed it off. After all, this was the same guy who ghosted me.
But he didn’t stop at jokes. His mother began to call me again, and so did his siblings. His family begged me to give him another chance, and I realised what I didn’t have in my first marriage: a family that actually wanted me there. His mother reminded me of how she always believed I was meant to be her daughter-in-law. Eventually, I caved in.
We started dating only after I told my parents, and they gave their blessings. Hamza and I got married two months ago.
This time, marriage feels safe. We speak the same love language. He understands me without over-explaining. We resolve our issues respectfully. I know people might say, “Two months is too short to know if a marriage will work.” But the truth is, a month into my previous one, I knew it was doomed. The signs were even there at the wedding, but because I was so desperate to move on from my last relationship, I jumped in.
Sometimes, I miss what could’ve been with my ex-husband. He had a gentle side, but let his mother’s opinions control our marriage. Still, I don’t regret leaving that marriage. It taught me that love isn’t enough. Support and respect matter too. This time, I’ve chosen someone who chooses me back, wholly and without question. And that has made all the difference.
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