For nearly a decade, Jadesola*(38) and Remi*’s(42) marriage was defined by heartbreak and childlessness. When she caught Remi in an act of betrayal, what was supposed to spell the end of their marriage became the beginning of an unexpected second chance.
This is Jadesola’s story as told to Betty:
When I caught my husband flushing the drugs meant to cure his weak sperm, I saw red. In my rage, I bit hard into his shoulder before I even realised it. At that moment, I thought our marriage was over. But somehow, God had something else planned.
***
I met Remi* in 2013. His aunt, who attended my church, introduced us because he’d been searching for a wife. Our attraction was instant. He was kind, caring and deeply devoted to God, and I felt lucky to have met him. After two years of courstship, we got married in 2015 and settled in Ife. But instead of the marital bliss I expected, the man I married turned an unexpected leaf.
He became irritable and distant, flaring up at small annoyances like closing a door too loudly or hanging up the phone before I heard him say ‘good bye’. It was frustrating.
We’d agreed to start trying for kids as soon as we got married, but the road to parenthood wasn’t as straightforward as I hoped. When I finally got pregnant in the second year of our marriage, I miscarried only three months later. The loss crushed me. I lost my spark and sank into depression. Remi was my rock during this time. He bathed me when I was too sad to move and took over all the household chores until I felt better.
After some months had passed, I told Remi I was ready to try again. He was reluctant but agreed. I got pregnant again and miscarried after two months. I felt like a failure. It felt like my whole world was crashing around me. I cried bitterly and prayed for mercy, wondering what I’d done to deserve such pain.
Still, I refused to give up.. I was determined to have a baby and told my husband we had to keep trying. I felt like if I could carry a pregnancy to term, it would be proof that I was a good woman, and our marriage would start to go the way I’d always imagined.
However, Remi wasn’t cooperative. He’d thrown himself into religion. He believed evil forces from his father’s side were responsible for our losses. Instead of staying home with me, he travelled from one crusade to another, fasting and praying on mountaintops. I knew he meant well, but his absence made me lonelier than ever.
By 2018, I was done. I barely saw my husband except during Christmas. I was ready to leave. When I threatened to leave, he called our family members, who begged me to stay. They said leaving would mean letting the enemies win. I agreed to stay, but only on the condition that Remi followed me to the hospital for fertility tests. He was reluctant at first, but when he realised I was serious, he agreed.
In 2018, we found ourselves waiting in a long queue at a hospital in Ibadan, hoping to see a doctor and hoping they would have answers to our issues. After several tests, the doctors said there was nothing wrong with me. But Remi had weak sperm. Hearing that gave me hope; it was the first time we’d gotten any medical explanation for our troubles. The doctors also said some medications could help improve his sperm quality. Leaving the hospital that day felt like a fresh start, like we’d gotten a second chance to find the spark in our union. I was so wrong. The drugs didn’t seem to work — or so I thought. I got pregnant twice after that, and they both ended in miscarriage. By 2020, the grief had worn me down. Still, I wanted us to keep trying. I was sure in my heart that we could have a baby.
Then, one night in September 2020, I woke up to pee and noticed that the other side of the bed was empty. I almost freaked out, but then I remembered it was Remi; he was probably somewhere in the house praying. I stumbled sleepily toward the bathroom and immediately noticed the light was on. I pushed the door open and froze: Remi was emptying his pills into the toilet.
For moments, it was hard to connect the sight in front of me to the many thoughts crashing against each other in my head. Those pills were our one ticket to finally having a child, the only thing keeping my hope alive. Watching him destroy them snapped something inside me. I lunged at him, screaming, and before I knew it, my teeth were on his shoulder. He yelled in pain, but I couldn’t stop.
When I ran out of strength, I rushed out of the house screaming, “Remi ti pa mi o!” “Remi has killed me”. I threw myself on the floor, crying and screaming until our neighbours came out.
The wives in the compound gathered around me and tried to calm me down, but I was inconsolable. I wanted to sit in the dust forever. I cried and cried for all the babies I’d lost. I was doing everything I could, drinking herbal medications, eating well and tracking my period. All he had to do was take his medication, and he wasn’t even going to do that. The wives in the compound eventually led me back inside, but by morning, I’d made up my mind— I was leaving.
Remi begged me to stay, said he could explain, but I was too hurt to allow the words from his mouth get to me. I packed a few clothes and went to his older sister’s house in Ibadan. I cried bitterly again when I told her what Remi did. She was so disappointed and promised to give me whatever support I needed.
Later, they called a family meeting, but I refused to attend. I didn’t want to see his face after what he did. His sister went on my behalf and recounted all that was said. Remi had confessed that a prophet told him my womb wouldn’t carry a child as long as he kept taking the drugs. He thought he was helping me by secretly throwing them away.
In the days that followed, his sister stood by me. She said I didn’t have to go back to his house and could stay for as long as I needed. It was a relief to hear. I wasn’t ready to face Remi, and even though I had physically left his house, I wasn’t ready to file for divorce. He kept calling and texting from new numbers, sending long apologies and promises to take his medication, but I ignored him. I wasn’t ready to forgive.
In 2021, I started attending church with my sister-in-law. That was where I met Bode*, an older man took interest in me as soon as I joined the church. I told him I was still married, but he said it wasn’t an issue, that he liked me and wanted to build a life with me.
When I shared with Remi’s sister, she said I had her support to marry someone else. So I indulged Bode. He’d follow us home after church, and we’d walk around the neighbourhood talking. I liked him well enough; he seemed nice, but he didn’t make me feel the same way Remi did.
In early 2023, Bode asked me to marry him. I reminded him that I hadn’t even started a divorce process from Remi, but he said he just wanted my commitment. Bode even promised to help with the process. I said I’d think about it.
When Remi heard about the proposal, he travelled to the church, angry and ready to fight Bode. That was when I decided to face him for the first time in over a year. That day, in August 2023, when I saw Remi, I burst into tears. He started crying too, and we hugged each other. I was still angry about the past, but I’d missed him. I couldn’t deny the betrayal I felt, but I also couldn’t deny that I loved him.
Remi went on his knees, brought out the same medication, and swallowed them right in front of me. He swore he’d been taking them since I left, and if I gave him another chance, he would never betray me again.
I was sceptical, but I decided to try again. I knew that he loved me; he just acted on some bad advice. By mid-2024, I found out I was pregnant again. This time, we kept it a secret. After I crossed the first trimester, we travelled to Ogun state, where no one knew us and stayed there until I delivered a healthy baby boy in February 2025. We only broke the news to our families a week later, after a pastor already christened our son.
Everyone was delighted. They were shocked and a little hurt that we kept it from them, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Our boy is the spitting image of Remi. I couldn’t be happier. His existence is like a balm that soothes the wounds of the past losses I suffered.
Remi is besotted with me and the baby. Since his birth, he hasn’t let me lift a finger. It’s as if our love quadrupled overnight. He no longer leaves home for weeks on end to pray on mountaintops; he’s here with us, building the life I’d always dreamed about.
I have suffered great pain and grief, but the joy I have now makes the past hurts feel like a nightmare I’ve long woken from. I’m grateful to God for the wonderful family I have today.
See what people are saying about this article on social media
We’re creating something Nigeria has never had: a comprehensive, data-backed report on how young Nigerians really experience love, dating, marriage, and relationships.
But we need your voices to make it happen. Whether you’re: single and navigating the dating scene, in a relationship trying to figure it out, married and living the reality, divorced and healing, engaged and planning your future, your experience matters. This survey is 100% anonymous.
Participate here to help shape the national conversation about love in Nigeria.
READ ALSO: Marriage Diaries: The Wife Who Fell in Love Again After Becoming A Mum
