Some stories are not told to seek sympathy, but to warn others before they walk the same painful path. This is one of them.
I once believed love was enough — pure, strong, unbreakable. But love without wisdom can lead even the sincerest hearts into sorrow.
When I was younger, I fell deeply in love with my secondary school sweetheart, Kayode. We were inseparable, naive, and convinced our love could survive anything. In our little town of Osi, Ondo State, life was simple and dreams were small — I just wanted to finish my hairdressing training and open a salon. I never imagined that a decision made out of innocence and emotion would follow me for the rest of my life.
At 21, after a youthful mistake and a secret abortion, we decided to “seal our love forever.” A friend told us about a blood covenant — a ritual meant to bind two lovers spiritually. We didn’t understand its meaning, yet we believed it would protect our relationship. We mixed a few drops of our blood, whispered promises, and believed heaven had witnessed it.
Years passed. Kayode got a good job, and we eventually married. It felt like the covenant had worked — our childhood love story had come full circle. Our families celebrated, and we finally began our lives as husband and wife.
Then reality came with quiet footsteps.
Our first child, Korede, arrived prematurely — small, fragile, and constantly ill. Hospitals became our second home. When he was two, doctors told us he had sickle cell anaemia. That day, my world shattered. Both of us were carriers (AS), something we never knew before marriage.
We had acted on love, not knowledge — and an innocent child bore the pain.
And through it all, the memory of that blood covenant haunted me. We had tied our souls together in ignorance, never understanding that some covenants carry spiritual and emotional consequences that love alone cannot undo.
So this is not just my story — it’s a warning.
To every young couple deeply in love, to every girl who believes promises made in secret make love stronger — please, think again.
Love does not need blood to be proven. True love is sealed with understanding, trust, prayer, and patience — not rituals we don’t understand.
Before you make lifelong decisions, get the right knowledge. Do medical tests. Seek counsel. Don’t let emotions lead you into what only grace can rescue you from later.
If my story saves even one person from repeating my mistake, then sharing my pain is worth it.
Because some lessons — like the consequences of a blood covenant — are too costly to learn firsthand.
Epilogue: Life After Kayode
It’s been three years since Kayode and I went our separate ways. The decision wasn’t made in anger — it was born out of exhaustion, silence, and the quiet realization that love sometimes breaks under the weight of what it was never built to carry.
We had fought, prayed, fasted, and tried to heal together, but the cracks grew deeper with time. The bond that once felt spiritual became suffocating. Every sickness, every sleepless night, every reminder of the past pulled us further apart. And beneath it all was that old covenant — a shadow we could never quite escape.
When we finally decided to part ways, it felt like tearing off a piece of my own soul. But strangely, peace began to return in fragments. I started to breathe again.
Today, I live quietly with my son who is now a teenager. Kayode is still very much in Korede’s life but he’s now married to another woman. Korede is still fragile but stronger than he used to be. Some days are hard, but every smile he gives reminds me that I still have grace. I’ve also found a deeper faith — not in rituals or empty promises, but in God’s mercy and wisdom.
I no longer see myself as a victim of my past. Instead, I see a woman who learned, through pain, that love is not meant to be caged in fear or sealed with blood. Love, at its truest, should free us — not bind us.
So I tell my story now, not to reopen old wounds, but to close them gently — and to help others avoid the same path. Because peace, I’ve learned, often begins the moment we stop holding on to what hurts and start holding on to what heals.
