We dated from our first year in university until we graduated and started working—roughly five years together. When you date someone that long, you naturally expect it to lead to marriage. But then he started talking about getting his master’s degree. Then about going abroad. And yet, none of his plans included me. It was all about him, his future, his ambitions.

I needed clarity, so I asked, "Devon, when do you plan on getting married?"

"Marriage?" he scoffed as if the word disgusted him. "I don’t intend on getting married anytime soon. Marriage can wait."

His words sent a chill down my spine. I was a woman; my biological clock was ticking. "So when do you plan on getting married?" I pressed.

"Maybe five years, or six, or seven... who knows?"

I did the math. In five years, I would be 28. In six, I’d be 29. In seven, I’d be 30. I felt panic creeping in. Still, I wanted to be sure.

"Do you even see us getting married?"

He sighed, brushing off my concerns. "Don’t worry about it."

So I didn’t. For three more years, I convinced myself to be patient. But deep down, I knew. He was wasting my time. Finally, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I asked again, hoping for a different answer.

His response was cold. "If you want to get married so badly, why are you still with me? I don’t plan on getting married soon."

Eight years. Wasted.

I was furious. But he didn’t care. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel even a fraction of what I felt. But I didn’t know how. I drowned in pain and misery for months until I reconnected with a man who had pursued me back in university.

He was nearly ten years older. Too egoistic for my liking. He had money, but that never impressed me. Back then, I hadn’t wanted him. But now? Now I was heartbroken, and he was an easy escape.

I didn’t think twice. I accepted his proposal, and everything moved so fast. Before I could even catch my breath, we were getting married—just five months after reconnecting.

I married him to spite my ex.

And to say I regret it is an understatement.

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The man I chose was worse than he had been back when he first pursued me. I got the marriage I wanted, but happiness was nowhere in sight.

Do I still love my ex? No. And that’s what makes it even worse. I didn’t marry for love—I married for revenge. And now, every single day, I pay the price for that choice.

I could have healed. I could have chosen better. But instead, I let my bitterness drive me into the arms of someone I was least compatible with. And for that, I have only myself to blame.