There are some stories that are hard to tell—not because they’re unclear, but because they’re heavy.

Mine is one of them.

I’m still married to my husband.

Not because I chose to forgive him.

Not because love conquered all.

But because people in power—people I thought were supposed to protect me—asked me to.

Yes, I’m talking about the Lagos State government

When I found out what my husband did—when I learned he had been involved with an underage girl—I was broken. Betrayed. Disgusted. I was ready to walk away. Ready to take back control of my life, my peace, my dignity.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead, I was called in. Spoken to. Persuaded. “Forgive him,” they said. “For the sake of the children. For the family. You don’t want to destroy everything you’ve built.”

What about what he destroyed?

What about me?

I sat there, surrounded by people in government who should’ve stood for justice, and instead, they stood for him. They urged me to stay in a marriage I no longer believed in, to look past something that broke every boundary I had.

And so, I stayed.

Not because I healed.

Not because I’m okay.

But because I was pushed into silence and told it was strength.

This isn’t justice. This isn’t what forgiveness should look like.

I’m writing this today because I know there are women out there who feel exactly how I felt—trapped by expectations, guilt-tripped by authority, and left to carry a weight that was never theirs to bear.

You’re not weak for staying.

You’re not dramatic for wanting to leave.

And you’re definitely not alone.

This is my truth. My voice. My story.

And no one gets to rewrite it but me.

— D J Kulet