💝The Pastor Warned Me. I Ignored Him... Now I Regret Everything💝

Ada met Femi at a youth camp in Ibadan. It was a rainy August evening. The campfire was crackling, praise songs were rising, and everyone was in a spiritual high. Femi stood out not because he was loud or showy, but because he was calm. Grounded. Mysterious. He played the drums with such focus and intensity, it was like he worshipped with every beat.

Ada noticed him from across the fire.

Later that night, while the campers shared testimonies and roasted corn, Femi approached her.

“You sing beautifully,” he said, his voice soft and sure.

Ada blushed. “Thank you.”

That was the beginning.

They exchanged numbers, and from that point on, they were inseparable. He would call her every night for prayers. Send her daily devotionals. Even when she was tired, he’d remind her, “Let’s not sleep without talking to God.”

In less than a year, he became her spiritual partner, her emotional rock, her everything.

So when Femi asked her to be his girlfriend during a youth vigil in front of the whole church, Ada didn’t hesitate. She said yes through happy tears while the choir clapped.

Everyone was happy.

Well… almost everyone.

Two Sundays later, Pastor James, the youth pastor, called Ada aside after service.

“I had a dream,” he said, voice low but firm. “Someone close to you wears a mask. He looks like light but holds darkness. Daughter, pray. Don’t rush.”

Ada’s heart skipped.

“Is this about Femi?” she asked, forcing a nervous laugh.

The pastor didn’t answer directly. He just repeated, “Watch and pray. Don’t be carried away by appearances.”

She nodded, but inside she was offended. What was he implying? Femi wasn’t just her boyfriend. He was the spiritual one. The grounded one. The man who always said, “God first.”

So, she ignored the warning.

Months passed. Femi became more involved with her family. He visited often, helped her mother fix the broken kitchen pipe, bought gifts for her siblings, even led family prayers. Everyone adored him.

Their bond grew stronger. They attended couples' fellowship. He proposed with a Bible verse and a rose-shaped ring box.

Ada said yes.

Wedding planning began. Ada’s dream was coming true.

Then came the crack.

One rainy Wednesday evening, Femi forgot his phone in her car. He was inside her house, having dinner with her family. A message popped up on the screen.

"Baby I miss you. I wish she’d disappear already."

Her hand froze on the steering wheel.

She clicked.

It was a WhatsApp chat. The girl’s profile photo was of her and Femi at a beach resort — hugging.

Ada’s hands trembled as she scrolled.

Pictures. Voice notes. Long chats. The girl called him “babe.” He replied with “my queen.”

Another girl messaged too. Different name. Different tone — more seductive.

One message read: "When are you telling the church girl the truth?"

Ada felt like vomiting.

She sat still in the car for nearly 30 minutes.

When she finally walked inside, her legs were weak. Her mother smiled, “You didn’t get soaked in the rain, did you?”

Femi smiled too. “You alright, babe?”

She didn’t answer.

After dinner, she asked him to stay back.

"I need to talk to you."

When they were alone, she handed him the phone.

Femi’s face fell. He sat down slowly.

“Ada… I… I can explain.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was calm. “Just tell me how long.”

He stammered. "It was before us. Some overlapped. I didn’t plan to—"

“Were you sleeping with them?”

Silence.

Tears filled Ada’s eyes. “All this time you were praying with me, quoting scripture…”

Femi knelt. “Ada, please. I love you. They mean nothing. You’re the one I want to marry. I swear!”

But his words were empty now.

She broke off the engagement the next day.

Her parents were heartbroken. The church was shocked. Gossip spread quickly.

Femi’s version of the story painted her as “too strict,” “too spiritual,” and “easily offended.”

Some believed him.

But Pastor James? He never said “I told you so.” He just hugged her and said:

“When God shows you red flags, don’t paint them white.”

Ada stopped attending church for months. Shame and anger consumed her. She felt like a fool. Used. Mocked.

She deleted Instagram. Avoided old friends. Blocked numbers.

One day, out of curiosity, she reinstalled Instagram. Femi’s profile came up immediately.

He had gotten married.

To one of the girls.

There were pictures of a beautiful wedding in Ghana. Matching white lace. Laughter. Smiles.

Ada’s chest tightened.

That night, she cried till her voice disappeared.

She asked God, “Why me? Why did You let me love a lie?”

There was no answer.

But she didn’t stop there.

She started writing again — journaling the pain, the confusion, the brokenness. Each page became her therapy. Slowly, the fog began to clear.

She found a support group online for women who had experienced spiritual betrayal. Stories worse than hers. Wounds deeper. But in the sharing, there was healing.

She went for therapy. Started speaking at small events. Encouraged teenage girls at her alma mater. She became a mentor for young Christian women, teaching them how to discern not just what sounds godly, but what is godly.

Five years later, she stood on a TEDx stage in Abuja.

Dressed in red, calm and composed, she told her story to a packed hall.

“My name is Ada. I almost married a lie. But I found truth in healing.

Sometimes, the people who hurt you the most are the ones who look holy. They dress the part. Speak the part. But God sees hearts, not hashtags or hallelujahs.

If someone shows you who they are, don’t silence your spirit. Don’t explain it away. Don’t bury red flags under love quotes.

If you must walk away, walk boldly. You’re not stupid. You’re not weak. You’re human. And you deserve truth.”

The room erupted in applause.

Tears ran down the cheeks of young women. Mothers. Aunties.

Ada smiled.

She had turned her pain into purpose.

And she never looked back.

... THE END ...