When Linda* (24) landed her first job, she was focused on building her career and having a drama free work life. But a slow-burning connection with her married boss, Tony*, quickly blurred professional and emotional boundaries. What started as a simple friendship quietly spiralled into something deeper, more confusing, and harder to let go of.
In this story, she recounts the emotionally consuming affair they had, and why walking away hasn’t made it any easier to let go.
This is Linda’s story, as told to Mofiyinfoluwa
In the last year, I’ve learned that the line between right and wrong isn’t as clear as we like to pretend. There are complicated grey areas no one really talks about. In March 2024, I got my first job as a junior strategist at a rising marketing agency in Lagos. I was 23, and Tony* was just over 30 — the youngest boss in the company. He oversaw my department and was the kind of boss everyone loved. He was gentle, charming and approachable. But I didn’t pay much attention to him until a few months later, when we finally had our first real conversation.
It was at a team hangout. I’d mostly kept to myself, sipping a drink in the corner, when he came over and asked why I was always so serious. He wanted to know if I ever did anything for fun. I told him I loved reading, and his face lit up. He said we were twins. We ended up talking about thrillers, and even though it was just small talk, the ease of it made me forget he was my boss. That night, he sent a list of book recommendations with voice notes describing each one. That moment changed everything.
We became buddies. We’d swap memes and movie/book recommendations. But slowly, the lines got blurred. I started paying more attention to what I wore to work. I overanalysed my messages and everything I said in meetings. I became hyperaware of him. He’d linger at my desk to ask if I needed help, touch my arm when we talked, and give me compliments that made me giddy. I looked forward to everything and convinced myself it was just admiration. A minor crush. He had a wife. I had no business thinking about him that way.
One night, about two months into our friendship, I stayed late at work to finalise a proposal. He’d offered to help, and when we turned it in, we were the only two workers left in the building. Since it was a Friday night, he ordered food and drinks to celebrate. Midway into our conversation, I felt an ease that prompted me to ask if his wife ever complained about him staying out late. He avoided the question and simply said he really enjoyed talking to me. That was all it took. I leaned in and kissed him. It was quick and clumsy, and even though he kissed me back, I felt bad and immediately apologised. He shrugged it off and offered to drive me home.
I couldn’t face him after that encounter, so I called in sick the next Monday. I also followed up with another apology. He replied with a sticker, and I spent hours overanalysing it. I had no idea how he felt about the kiss. I For almost two weeks, I avoided him. I’d leave work early so he wouldn’t offer me rides.
Then, one weekend, he texted that he was coming over. I panicked, but we just sat in his car and talked about everything except the kiss. He reached for my hand at some point, and when I didn’t pull away, he kissed me again. He said he missed talking to me and asked if I could go with the flow and stop acting weird.
At first, I felt elated. The man I’d admired for so long actually liked me back. But I also felt unsettled. What did “going with the flow” even mean? What about work? What about his wife? I felt extremely guilty. I had so many questions, but I kept mum. I feared he’d pull away if I pushed too hard — and I couldn’t handle that. I was falling too hard for him.
I don’t know if the people at work noticed. If they did, no one confronted me. But there were jokes. They called me his “work wife” and teased that I was his favourite. Maybe they thought he just looked out for me as the youngest in the department. We didn’t have strict office polices, but I knew that if we continued, it was only a matter of time before someone found out. Still, I pushed my concerns aside. A part of me believed that if things got messy, I’d just resign to avoid facing the consequences.
So we kept going with the flow. He’d drive me around after work or follow me to my hair appointments. Afterwards, we’d sit in his car, talk, and make out. It was never planned. It just happened. Each time, we went a little further, but we never had sex. I used that to justify everything. I told myself we weren’t technically doing anything wrong since we’d not had sex. And that, somehow, felt even more intimate and sincere.
This went on for almost four months. December was the peak; the best time of my life. We hung out almost every day, going on dates, to the beach, and even shopping. It felt like a real relationship.
Tony easily became my favourite person. I didn’t ask much about his marriage, but from the little he shared, it sounded like he and his wife had grown emotionally distant. He once said they were very different people. He made it sound like we were more compatible because we both enjoyed quiet and thoughtful conversations. That made me feel special.
But by late January this year, things started to feel different. He’d go from replying to my messages instantly to ignoring me for hours or even days, then return like nothing happened. It left me feeling anxious. I never wanted to seem too attached, so I pretended not to care. It made me feel pathetic, and I hated that.
I tried to distract myself at some point by talking to Salam*, a guy I met through Snapchat. He was my age, sweet, funny, and wanted something serious. My friends liked him more than Tony. I thought that maybe if I focused on him, Tony wouldn’t matter as much.
But the first time Salam kissed me, I felt sick to my stomach. Not because he did anything wrong, but because it felt like I was cheating. That kiss made me realise just how much my heart already belonged to someone else. I convinced myself I didn’t like Salam, so I cut things off. But deep down, I knew I hadn’t been able to find anyone else attractive since Tony.
I started asking myself the hard questions. Was I really cheating? Or just blocking my chances because I loved a man who would never be mine?
Eventually, I did something I had been avoiding for months. I sent Tony a long message explaining how I didn’t understand what we were doing, how he never clarified his intentions, and how tired I was of feeling confused. To my surprise, he told me to be realistic and not complicate things. He emphasised that we weren’t even having sex.
That gutted me. It felt like he reduced everything we’d shared to the fact that he hadn’t taken my clothes off. We met up, and when I told him I didn’t appreciate how dismissive he sounded, he acted like I was being dramatic and imagining things. When I asked his intentions, he deflected and reminded me that I kissed him first.
In anger, I lied and said I wanted to start seeing someone else. I expected him to talk me out of it, but he only shrugged and said he respected my decision. I was shattered, but I knew there was no point holding on.
I still had to go to work and pretend everything was fine. We spoke occasionally, and he still texted to check in. I clung to those messages, reading too much meaning into everything he said. I acted like I didn’t care, but it felt like a breakup. I cried a lot. Some days, I felt tempted to message him and say I didn’t mean it. That we could go back to doing things his way.
I avoided my friends because I knew they’d say, “I told you so.” They warned me from the beginning, but I was bent on staying delusional. I eventually opened up to one of them, and she gently told me that even if Tony didn’t mean to, he manipulated me. She believed the only way to move on was to stop seeing him every day. Deep down, I knew it was true.
Since I couldn’t quit outright, I requested a transfer to our branch in Magodo. The commute would be longer, and I didn’t know anyone there, but it was a necessary move. I only told Tony when they said he needed to approve my transfer. He looked genuinely shocked, even though he knew it was about him. He tried to discourage me, but he didn’t insist.
It’s been a little over three months since my transfer. Sometimes, I regret the transfer because, like I predicted, the new branch is more difficult. We are fewer, and the workload is heavier. But it’s helped because I haven’t seen him in all that time. I don’t know if he feels guilty, but he texts me occasionally and asks if I’m free to meet. So far, I’ve avoided his advances. I’m trying to draw boundaries because I know might relapse if I see him again.
I still love him even after seeing the other side of him; it’s very difficult not to. He’s made it clear that there was nothing between us. But if that’s true, why does he keep texting me?
I hope that, with time, I can finally stop caring.
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