We met in the most ordinary way — a WhatsApp group for university applicants. She was smart, funny, and had the kind of smile that made you forget what you were about to say. Her name was Vivian.
Three years passed, just like that. We weren't perfect, but we made it work. I helped her with assignments, she cooked for me when I was broke. We fought, laughed, cried, and talked about a future together. A house in East Legon. A dog named Roxy. Two kids — David and Jenifer.
She called me “husband”. I called her “my forever”.
In our third year of dating, she started behaving a little differently. Not distant exactly — just... quieter. More "busy." More "I'll call you later." But love makes you blind. And foolish. I thought it was stress from her internship. I thought it was normal.
One Friday afternoon, she told me she was traveling to Cape Coast for her cousin's wedding. She even sent me pictures of the clothe she’d wear. I told her to enjoy herself and not stress about texting too much.
She disappeared for three days.
No updates. No calls. No "I miss you."
Not even a simple goodnight.
Then Monday morning, she finally messaged:
“The wedding was amazing. I’m exhausted. I’ll call you later.”
She sent one blurry group photo. She was smiling. In a dress. Standing far from the couple. It felt… off. But again, I let it go. I didn't want to sound insecure.
That night, I saw it.
A friend posted on WhatsApp status:
“Congratulations to Mr. & Mrs. Sarpong ❤️🎉💍 #CapeCoastWedding”
I tapped it — casually at first.
And my whole body went cold.
There she was.
Vivian.
In a white wedding gown.
Smiling like the world was hers.
Holding the arm of a man I’d never seen before.
She didn’t attend a wedding.
She had one.
And I wasn’t invited.
She didn’t just ghost me.
She got married to another man while I thought she was coming back to me.
I called. No answer.
I texted. Blue ticks. No reply.
I sent one final message:
“You could’ve just told me. I’d have respected the truth more than this betrayal.”
She never responded.
Days later, I heard from a mutual friend that her new husband lives abroad. He came to Ghana briefly and wanted to marry immediately. Her parents pushed it. Money was involved. She didn’t want to lose the opportunity.
So she made a choice.
She chose comfort.
She chose silence.
She chose betrayal.
I didn’t cry immediately. I think the shock numbed me. I just stared at the photo for hours. The same girl who once said, “If I ever get married, it will be you standing beside me,” now had someone else’s ring on her finger.
I didn’t block her.
I didn’t curse her.
I simply deleted her number.
And in that moment, I learned that sometimes, heartbreak doesn’t come with screaming or drama. Sometimes, it comes in silence… and a wedding invitation that never arrived.
Because the wedding was mine.
But the bride had changed the groom.
Not all losses are loud. Some just leave a quiet emptiness where love used to be.
