I was getting dressed in the bedroom—his bedroom—when I saw a little boy trying to open the door. Quickly, I put on my clothes and opened it wider to see what was happening. The boy looked about a year old, and as I stepped out of the room, I saw a woman around my age, holding the hand of a little girl, maybe three or four years old.

Who were they? What were they doing here?

I took a closer look at the woman, and to my shock, I recognized her—it was Camilla, my best friend. But why was she in my boyfriend’s house with two kids? The moment she saw me, her face dropped, filled with disappointment. Anger surged through me. It was obvious—Larry was cheating on me. Again.

I was livid. Just then, the door flew open, and as soon as Larry walked in, I charged at him.

“How dare you, Larry! I’ll kill you today!” I screamed, grabbing a knife.

In an instant, his aura changed. He grabbed a knife too. “I’ll kill you first!” he shouted back, and what followed was a fierce, heated battle—one that jolted me awake. My heart was pounding. I was still in Larry’s room, but he was away on a trip. The dream had shaken me so much that I called him immediately. When I told him about it, he laughed.

“It must be the malaria—fever dreams are like that,” he said, dismissively.

I believed him and brushed it off. But the next time I slept at his place, I had another dream. This time, I was sleeping soundly in bed when three women appeared and tapped me awake. One was a little girl, the second looked to be in her thirties, and the third was old enough to be my mother. They said nothing, just stared at me and walked away in silence. Again, I woke up confused and uneasy.

The third dream came during yet another night at his house. This time, Larry had come with some strange men to ask for my hand in marriage, what we call "knocking" in Ghana. But everything about him and those men felt off. After the ceremony, I didn’t hear from him, and my father began asking questions. When I called Larry to find out what was happening, he told me to meet him outside.

It was pitch black when I stepped out. His car pulled up, but just as I was about to get in, the door slammed shut, and he sped off. I was furious. Before I could react, a pack of terrifying, wild dogs started chasing me. I ran for my life, panicking, until I woke up, shaken once again.

That was the last straw. I hurried out of his house that morning and never went back. Whatever was going on, I didn’t care to find out. The nightmares were enough. I got home, said a prayer, and took communion, trying to cleanse myself of the fear that had been haunting me.

From that day, our relationship started to crumble, but I wasn’t upset. One day, while he was on yet another trip, I found myself bored at his place. My curiosity got the better of me, so I started snooping around. I found a brown envelope hidden in his wardrobe. Inside were wedding invitation samples, brochures, and vendors’ lists. My heart sank. I dug deeper into the wardrobe and found women’s jewelry, shoes, and other things.

Larry was getting married.

My hands trembled as I put everything back in place. When he returned, I didn’t say a word. Instead, I waited until he was fast asleep and went through his phone. There, I discovered he had two children with the woman he was marrying, and they had been together for a long time. I didn’t even cry. I just consoled myself, realizing that I had been living a lie.

Without confronting him, without a warning, I disappeared from his life—just as he had planned to get married without giving me any warning.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had confronted him. But in the end, I’m thankful for those dreams—they saved me from a greater pain I didn’t deserve.

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