Bride Overhears Groom’s Shocking Betrayal, Returns To Wedding with Ultimate Revenge
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Bride Overhears Groom’s Shocking Betrayal, Returns To Wedding with Ultimate Revenge
Once upon a time, in the heart of a bustling Nigerian city, lived a woman named Kyoma. She was 28 years old, beautiful in a quiet, graceful way, and she walked with the dignity of someone who had learned to carry herself even when life was not fair. Seven months pregnant, her stomach showed proudly beneath the soft cream gown she wore on the eve of her wedding. Her smile came easily but not foolishly, and when she looked at you, it felt as if she saw straight into your soul.
Kyoma had waited many years for a love she could trust. Now, she believed she had found it in Abuka—a man who was smart, polished, and well-spoken. He always knew the right words to say and how to say them. He made her feel safe, made her laugh, and held her hands tightly when she was afraid of giving birth. “You’re my whole world,” he whispered. Tomorrow, they would marry.
The house was alive with joyful chaos—cousins rushing up and down, aunties frying chicken in the backyard, someone shouting about baby wipes. Kyoma sat on the edge of her childhood bed, gently rubbing her belly. Her white veil hung on the door, waiting for the next day. Her cousin Linda entered, chewing gum as she plopped down beside her.
“Are you just going to sit here till morning?” Linda teased. “You should do something special for your groom.”
Kyoma smiled tiredly. “What kind of special thing?”
Linda rolled her eyes. “You’re about to marry the love of your life. Go deliver his gift yourself. He’s staying at Marary Hotel tonight. Sneak in, give him that gold wristwatch you bought, write a sweet note. It’ll blow his mind.”
Kyoma hesitated, but Linda insisted. Finally, Kyoma agreed. She took an Uber to Marary Hotel, carrying a small paper bag with the wristwatch and a handwritten letter. At the reception desk, she asked for Abuka.
“Yes, he checked in this evening,” the receptionist said, “but he’s not alone.”
Kyoma’s heart dropped. “Not alone?”
“Yes. He came in with a woman.”
Kyoma forced a smile and walked to the elevator, her mind racing. Maybe it was his sister, a friend, or someone from the wedding planning team. But as she stepped into the elevator, a voice inside whispered, Go up there. Don’t ignore this feeling.
On the seventh floor, she walked down the silent hallway, passing room 708, then 710, pausing at 712. The door was closed, but voices drifted out—muffled laughter, then moaning. Kyoma’s hand covered her mouth before a scream could escape. She moved closer, pressing her ear to the door.
It was Abuka’s voice, clear and mocking. “Kyoma is too emotional these days. I’m only marrying her because of the baby. If she wasn’t pregnant, I’d be out.”
A woman giggled. “You’re wicked.”
“She thinks this is love,” Abuka said. “She’s nothing without that baby. Once the wedding is done, I’ll control everything.”
More moaning, more laughter. Kyoma’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she pulled out her phone, opened the voice recorder, and pressed record. She captured every word, every sound—the proof of betrayal. When it ended, she backed away like a ghost, her hand on her belly now in protection, not joy.
Back in the Uber, she stopped at a pharmacy, bought water, tissues, and a new memory card. She copied the recording, sent a backup to her email, and whispered to herself, “I am not the fool you think I am, Abuka. Tomorrow, I’ll show you.”
Kyoma didn’t sleep that night. She replayed the recording, her pain sharp but not breaking her. She held her belly and whispered to her child, “I’ll protect you. No one will ever use you to hurt me again.”
At dawn, the compound was already busy with wedding preparations. Kyoma moved like a shadow, quiet and focused. She called her godfather, Uncle Ia, and asked him to withdraw his investment from Abuka’s business. She called her lawyer, Barrister Fundi, and demanded the marriage license be canceled. “I’ve never been more sure in my life,” she said.
By morning, Linda brought her breakfast, acting normal, but Kyoma saw through her forced smiles and darting eyes. She thanked Linda and locked her door, staring at her reflection. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you who you played with,” she whispered.
Later, Abuka called, his voice smooth and sweet. He talked about the wedding, the photographer, the first dance. Kyoma listened, her mind made up. “We’re perfect,” she lied.
That evening, her father prayed with her, asking God for a marriage filled with love and loyalty. Kyoma said “Amen,” but in her heart, she prayed for truth to be louder than lies.
The next morning, Kyoma sat in the makeup chair, calm and ready. Her lawyer messaged her: “License canceled. Officially withdrawn. No valid marriage can take place today.” Kyoma smiled.
Downstairs, Abuka waited in a wine-colored suit, greeting guests, laughing, looking every bit the dream groom. Linda stood beside him, grinning in her gold bridesmaid dress. Kyoma watched them through the window, not angry, just ready.
She slid the memory card into a Bluetooth device hidden in her bouquet. “Not every bride gets to walk into her freedom,” she whispered.
The convoy arrived at the church, cameras rolled, children screamed, “The bride is here!” Kyoma stepped out, her father by her side. “Are you ready, my daughter?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy. I’m ready.”
Inside, the church was filled with flowers, ribbons, and a giant banner: “Welcome to the wedding of Abuka and Kyoma.” Guests whispered, took photos, and waited for the ceremony to begin.
Kyoma walked down the aisle, her face unreadable, her steps deliberate. Abuka’s face lit up. “You look amazing,” he whispered when she reached the altar. Kyoma said nothing.
Pastor Ben began the ceremony, speaking of unity, love, and trust. Then he turned to Abuka. “Groom, it’s time for your vows.”
Abuka smiled, took the microphone. “Kyoma, from the first day I met you, I knew you were special. You brought peace, joy, and a future. You carry our child, and with each day, you carry more of my heart. I promise to love you, protect you, and be your partner forever.”
Everyone clapped. Linda grinned from the front row, secretly recording everything.
Now it was Kyoma’s turn. She took the microphone, but instead of speaking, she pressed the button on her bouquet. The sound system crackled, and Abuka’s voice played loudly from the speakers:
“Kyoma is too emotional these days. I’m only marrying her because of the baby. If she wasn’t pregnant, I’d be out… She’s nothing without that baby. Once the wedding is done, I’ll control everything…”
Moaning, laughter, gasps filled the church. People looked around in shock. “Is that Abuka’s voice?” someone shouted. “Turn it off!” But Kyoma stepped forward. “No. Let it finish.”
Abuka’s face turned white. He tried to reach for the microphone, but Pastor Ben held him back. “Kyoma, what is this?”
“This,” Kyoma said softly, “is what happened last night while I was home praying for this day. This is what my groom was doing.” She held up the microphone. “That was recorded on the seventh floor of Marary Hotel, room 712. That’s where my groom and his real lover spent the night.”
Gasps turned to murmurs. Phones came out. Abuka stammered, “It’s not what you think—”
Kyoma turned to him sharply. “Not what I think? You mocked me. You said I was nothing without this baby. You laughed with another woman in a hotel room while I lay awake believing in us.”
Linda tried to quietly leave the row, but Kyoma’s voice rang out. “And before anyone asks who the other woman is, look no further.” She pointed at Linda. “Meet my cousin, maid of honor, bridesmaid, and the woman my groom slept with last night.”
The church exploded. Women screamed, one fainted. Abuka froze. Linda covered her face and sat back down. Kyoma removed her veil, lifted her head, and looked at the guests.
“I came here today to marry a man I thought loved me, but I found out the truth just in time.” She took off her engagement ring and dropped it on the floor. “I won’t cry today. I won’t run. I will walk out of here, head held high, and raise this child in peace. Alone.”
She stepped off the altar. People stood, shocked. Abuka stood frozen, his mouth open. Kyoma turned to the choir. “Sing for freedom, not for a wedding.” Then she walked down the aisle, bouquet in hand, dress flowing behind her like a queen in battle. The choir sang, guests clapped, phones recorded. Kyoma didn’t look back.
Outside, the sun hit her face. Fresh air filled her lungs. Her baby kicked, and for the first time in days, she smiled.
A crowd followed her out. A woman from her father’s church asked, “Are you okay?”
Kyoma replied, “I will be.”
Inside, Abuka’s mother confronted him. “You brought shame to this church, to this family, with a pregnant bride and your cousin-in-law.” Abuka stammered, “I didn’t mean for this to happen…”
Pastor Ben bowed his head. It was the first time in 20 years he’d seen a bride take down her groom on the altar.
Linda tried to escape, but women blocked her path. “You’re going nowhere,” they said. “After what you did, you still have the nerve to walk away?” Linda cried, “It was a mistake…” but no one listened.
Outside, Kyoma’s father said, “Let’s go home.” But Kyoma replied, “I’m not done yet.” She walked back into the church, returned to the altar, and spoke one last time.
“I want to say something not just for me, but for every woman who has ever been lied to, who carried a man’s child while he carried secrets. I gave you everything—my heart, my time, my body, and now my child. I stood by you when others doubted you, and still you laughed behind my back. But I will not cry. Not here. Not today. Today, I choose myself.”
She turned to Linda. “Blood should protect, not betray. You weren’t just my cousin, you were my friend, my sister, and you knew everything. Still, you did this.”
Kyoma faced the pastor. “This wedding cannot continue.”
The pastor nodded. “It is your right.”
Kyoma held her belly, looked into the camera, and said, “I may walk out of here alone, but I walk out whole, not broken, not ashamed. I am still a bride, just not to a liar.”
She walked down the aisle again. This time, guests stood and clapped. The choir sang, “I am strong, I am brave, I am rising today.” Outside, reporters asked, “Are you still going to marry Abuka?” Kyoma looked at the camera and said, “I came here in a wedding dress, but I leave in my power.”
She entered the car with her father, and the crowd watched her drive away—leaving behind flowers, decorations, and a ruined groom.
That evening, Kyoma sat on her bed, dress folded beside her, her hair loose, her makeup half-wiped. She held her belly and spoke softly, “It’s just you and me now. We’re going to be okay.”
Her godfather called, “I’ve withdrawn my investment from Abuka’s business. His accounts will freeze in two days.” Kyoma thanked him.
The next morning, Kyoma woke to peace. Her blog, The Bride Who Walked, grew quickly. Women from all over sent messages, sharing their stories. She realized that what had broken her was now helping others heal.
When her baby arrived, Kyoma named her Amarachi—God’s grace. The birth was celebrated everywhere. Even Pastor Ben sent a letter: “You may not have stood before the altar, but you have walked into something greater.”
Kyoma continued her work, helping women find their strength, their voice, and their peace. She had walked out of her wedding, but walked into her power—and that was the best decision of her life.
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