Shockingly, my own younger sister looked me in the eye and said I shouldn’t enjoy my husband alone—that she also deserves a taste, just because he’s handsome. Imagine that! Is it now a crime to marry a fine man? Why must she set her eyes on mine instead of finding hers?
I was still very young when I left Nigeria with a scholarship to study abroad. My father was already late, and my mother—strong and tireless—struggled to raise me and my seven siblings.
I was determined to make her proud. I had read countless stories of Africans who went overseas, worked hard, and changed their families’ lives forever. I wanted that same chance.
After years of applying, my dream came true—I won a fully funded scholarship to study nursing. It was my golden ticket. Life abroad wasn’t easy at first, but I pushed through. Along the way, I met the man who would later become my husband. We fell in love, got married, built a home, and were blessed with two beautiful children. Even though I eventually earned more than him, he never once felt intimidated—he supported me fully.
Years later, settled and happy, I thought of family. I wanted to give back. So I decided to bring my younger sister over to visit, and maybe even explore opportunities to stay abroad. At first, she refused—she was engaged at the time. But I convinced her it was worth it, not just for herself, but for the future she and her fiancé could build. I was excited when her visa came out earlier than expected. After over 12 years apart, I couldn’t wait to see her again.
The day she arrived, I was overjoyed. My blood—my sister—finally with me. But soon after meeting my husband, I noticed something… strange. She blushed around him. She laughed a little too much. She kept telling me how “lucky” I was to have married such a fine “Oyibo” man. I brushed it off at first, giving God the glory and praising my husband’s good heart. After all, this was my sister. My own blood. We grew up together. The only thing I ever knew about her was how devoted she was to church back home—she never missed a service or prayer program.
But little did I know… something was about to unfold that would shake me to my core.
My husband currently works from home. He’s into cybersecurity and also taking an online program, so I always thought he was too busy with work and studies to ever give me any reason to worry.
But everything started to change two months after my younger sister came to stay with us. I began to notice strange behavior from my husband. He no longer woke me up early to help prepare the kids for school. Instead, he insisted on driving them himself. At first, I thought it was just him trying to be helpful—until the shocking lapses began.
For the first time ever, my husband started forgetting to pick up our children from school. The school would call me while I was at work, asking me to come for the kids—something that had never happened since they started attending that school.
It was embarrassing, stressful, and began to affect my job badly.
I couldn’t understand what was happening. How could a man who used to be so responsible suddenly become careless? I would often call him, begging him to rush and pick up the kids, but the situation kept repeating.
Then one day, the unexpected happened. I was at work when I got another call from the school saying my kids were stranded again. Frustrated, I took permission from my boss, left work, picked my children up, and drove straight home.
As soon as we got home, I asked the kids to go upstairs to their room and change. Something in me just said I should check on my sister. I walked towards her room, and before I could even open the door, I heard strange sounds—moaning, groaning, and screaming. My heart sank immediately.
I pushed the door open—and what I saw shattered me completely. My husband—the father of my children—was on top of my sister, giving it to her from behind. One hand tightly clutching her breast, the other pulling her hair as she screamed his name.
I stood frozen, then screamed at the top of my voice: “JESUS!!! What is going on here?!”
My husband was startled when I caught them, but what shocked me even more was my sister’s reaction. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she gave me one wicked look—an eye that pierced straight through me. In that moment, I became afraid and angry at the same time. Was I dreaming? Could this really be happening to me? Someone should have woken me from that nightmare.
I slammed the door and walked out, tears flowing uncontrollably down my face. I couldn’t speak to anyone. Even my kids noticed the redness in my eyes but I just kept silent.
The very next day, my husband came to me calmly and announced that he was moving out. I simply told him, “That’s okay.” He added that he would still be visiting the kids, and again, I said “That’s okay.” But deep down, I knew it was over.
Later, I confronted my sister about the betrayal. I asked her if this was how she planned to repay me after I sacrificed so much to bring her abroad. To my shock, she didn’t apologize. Instead, she looked me dead in the eye and said, “Your husband is too fine for you to enjoy alone. There’s nothing wrong with us sharing him.”
Did I hear her correctly? My own blood sister? I couldn’t believe it. Rage consumed me and I gave her the bitter lesson of her life. The following day, I told her to pack her things and leave my house—and she did.
But the story didn’t end there. A friend later called me with devastating news: my sister had moved in with my husband, and worse still—she was pregnant for him. My heart shattered all over again. Still, I gathered myself, focused on my job, and poured my energy into raising my kids alone.
Not long after, my mother called me. Instead of comfort, she accused me of being wicked for chasing my younger sister out of the house. I asked her if my sister told her the truth about what happened. My mother’s reply broke me: “No matter what happened, she’s still your sister. All she did was be with your husband. Is that a crime? She didn’t steal, she didn’t kill anyone.”
That was the last straw. I stopped talking to my mother completely.
Eight months later, as if life hadn’t humiliated me enough, my husband returned. He knelt before me, begging for forgiveness, claiming the devil used my sister to tempt him. He swore he never planned to hurt me, that he wanted to be a good husband again and a good father to our kids.
Truth be told, I still love my husband—but how do you forgive something like this? How do you accept a man who betrayed you with your own blood? Especially when he’s expecting a baby with that same sister?
The humiliation. The emotional damage. The betrayal from two people I trusted the most. My children cry for their father every day… but what about me? What about the scars on my heart?
