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My name is Sandra, and I have been married to Kunle for almost four years.
On the outside, our marriage looks fine, no public fights, no dramatic scandals, just two people trying to build a life. But on the inside, there is a small stone in my chest that I cannot swallow or spit out, and it started with one message.

That night, he was in the bathroom when his phone lit up beside me.
A chat popped up from our wedding photographer, of all people. We hadn’t spoken to the man in months, so seeing his name there already felt strange. When I opened the chat, there was just one message, sitting alone with no history: “Hey Dear” … the tone was oddly personal, far too familiar for someone who should have been just a vendor from our past. My heart started racing in a way I can’t explain.

The next morning, after Kunle left for work, I checked again.
The chat was empty. The message I had seen with my own eyes was gone, as if it had never existed. No “hi,” no “thanks,” nothing. Just a blank thread between my husband and another man. I stood there in the living room, phone in my hand, feeling like I had dreamed the whole thing.

Since then, my mind has not rested.
I remember little things from before: how Kunle always seemed a bit too defensive when the topic of sexuality came up, how he pulled away quickly from my touch in public but seemed too relaxed when certain male friends hugged him. I never took it seriously before that message. Now, every small memory feels like a puzzle piece I am scared to fit together.

Part of me wants to set a trap.
To ask the photographer for something and see how my husband reacts. To check his phone when he sleeps. To create a fake account and test his boundaries. But another part of me knows that once I cross that line, the trust between us will crack, whether I find something or not.

So I move through the house like someone holding a secret bomb, smiling, cooking, going to church with him, while my mind whispers:
Is it all in my head?
Or is my husband hiding a part of himself from me, and with someone who once watched us say “I do” through a camera lens?

For now, I have only questions, no proof.
Just my name, Sandra, my four-year-old marriage, and a single deleted message that refuses to leave my memory, no matter how hard I try to forget it.

Nma’s Diaries….Life…Lessons…And everything inbetween