I became a full woman in the arms of my husband, Demola Badmus. Through the births of our children, he stayed faithful and loved me every step of the way—even when I was painfully unbearable and irritating.
How did I lose myself? How could I throw everything away by cheating, all because of a fleeting glance at a younger man’s pelvic region? The sinful scent of Damon’s hormones, his hands running over my sweaty skin—those fleeting moments of bitter-sweet lust—reduced me to this level of nothingness.
Now, sitting in front of Demola, staring at the Durex pack on the floor and Damon’s briefs in his hand, I felt cornered. I couldn’t accept the accusation of being a cheating wife so easily. I thought to myself, “Demola…” I finally spoke, “after all these years of marriage, the mere sight of a condom wrapper and strange briefs has got you boiling as though you caught a man on top of me?”
As I waited for his response, I tried desperately to summon a teardrop to prove my innocence, but nothing came. Resigned, I buried my face in my hands and cried—crocodile tears. I sobbed dramatically, started packing my things, and threatened to leave the house.
I dragged one suitcase after another into the corridor, trying to maintain the flow of tears. As I walked back into the room, Demola held me close and kissed me. “I realize my wrongs, Shinnie,” he said. “It’s work, the stress… I haven’t had time for you, and I feel so guilty. I’m so sorry for thinking you could ever cheat on me.” 
I held his hands and gently led him to the greenhouse for a talk, giving Damon the chance to slip out of my husband’s closet unnoticed. Demola and I talked for over an hour and a half, and in that time, I realized how blind I had been to his personal and professional struggles.
In my distraction, I had allowed myself to lust deeply for another man, forgetting who I was and what my husband and I shared. As we talked, I saw Damon walking toward the gate, likely planning to spend the night elsewhere. When he passed the greenhouse, he didn’t greet us or even glance in our direction. Demola called out his name and waved, but Damon just kept walking as if he hadn’t heard him.
Damon’s blatant disrespect for my husband stung deeply. In that moment, I knew I had to end it all. I had experienced being both a cheating wife and a faithful one, and now I understood the depth of my mistakes. It was time to reclaim who I was and honor the love I once took for granted.
The next day, around 1 p.m., I locked all the doors, determined to avoid any more surprises from Damon. Demola had mentioned he would pick up the kids from school since their extra lessons had ended and exams were starting the following week. I was frying the last batch of potatoes and putting the final touches on the dining table for the kids’ lunch. It felt like a relief to return to my role as a faithful wife, shedding the careless and reckless version of myself that I had allowed to emerge.
After finishing the dining arrangements, I headed back to the kitchen, only to find Damon standing right outside the doorway. My heart raced as the memory of his rude behavior toward my husband from the evening before flashed in my mind.
“Damon, why were you so disrespectful to my husband yesterday evening?” I asked. “Do you realize your attitude could have made him suspect that something was going on between us?”
He stood there silently, his gaze fixed on me. When he finally spoke, his words were short yet shocking. They sent a chill through me, stiffening my resolve as I tried to walk away and ignore him.
Demola returned from school with the children, greeting me warmly with a hug and a gentle peck on my forehead. He walked upstairs without saying much and didn’t come back down right away. Concerned, I took a few steps up the stairs to check on him, but before I could reach him, the doorbell rang.
I rushed to answer it, only to find my parents, my elder sister, and my closest friend, who had traveled all the way from Johannesburg, standing at the door. My heart sank. Damon wasn’t just trying to intimidate me—he was right.
Glancing back upstairs, I realized what was happening. Demola had placed my packed boxes at the door to our bedroom. I could hear his sobs, a sound that shattered me to my core. Without thinking, I jumped over the boxes and clung to him from behind, desperate to stop the unraveling of my world. The tears I had tried to force out less than 24 hours ago now poured freely, like an unstoppable flood.
My voice cracked as I begged—begged for forgiveness, for another chance, for the life we had built together. My life actually depended on our marriage, on the home we had created, and on the children we have been blessed with.
Demola turned to face me, his tear-streaked face etched with pain. His voice was steady but laden with disappointment as he said, “I only wanted the truth from you, Adeshina. I knew you were cheating on me, but I forgave you. I believed you would overcome the lust and find your way back to your senses, but you didn’t. I waited, even up to the moment I called your parents, hoping you’d come clean. But you didn’t.”
My mother took the children to the kiddies’ room while I sat on the floor, feeling miserable and numb. This was where my lust and cheating with Damon had brought me—an unrecognizable version of myself, consumed by regret. Every memory of our escapades made my skin crawl as I replayed the moments in my mind, wishing desperately that I could undo them.
Demola began explaining everything to my parents and Ronke, my friend. He recounted how he had suspected me ever since the night I stormed out on him, only to return past midnight, drenched from the rain. He hadn’t snooped through my messages like I feared. Instead, the confirmation came that fateful day when he returned home unexpectedly and found Damon naked in our matrimonial bed. Damon had hurried into the wardrobe at Demola’s request, and Demola waited, hoping I would confess when he noticed the condom wrapper and briefs left on the floor.
But instead of admitting my wrongs, I faked tears, dragged my boxes out of the room, and put on an act. Demola saw through it all. He watched me deceive myself, his patience masking the hurt I had inflicted.
“Demola!” my father cried out, his voice heavy with disbelief. My mother wept silently, her tears speaking volumes of disappointment, while Ronke couldn’t even meet my gaze. Demola turned to them and said, “I invited you here so you could see and hear everything for yourselves. I haven’t wronged her. I only wanted the truth.”
He paused, his voice steady but resolute. “I’ve made up my mind. I’ll stay single and focus on being the best father to my children—not ours anymore, but mine.”
Whenever Demola spoke with such finality, I knew he meant it. Though he often seemed soft, his strength lay in his resolve, and this time, his decision was unshakable.
I had destroyed something that was once the cornerstone of my happiness—a life I had built and cherished for years. My children, my home, and my husband, who had loved me unconditionally, provided for me, cared for me, and remained faithful and honest through it all.
Now, I am single. I see my children only once a month, and I work as a customer care agent at a bank. I earn enough to afford what I want, but the emptiness lingers. Damon still calls occasionally, though I haven’t seen him since our last conversation—the day he revealed that my husband knew everything. Not long after that, Damon moved away, leaving me to confront the wreckage of my choices alone.
My colleagues see me as a wealthy woman—a lady who has it all. But they are wrong. Demola and our three lovely sons were all that mattered to me, and without them, I am nothing!
My name is Adeshina… and I am The Wife Who Cheated.
