You spoke about your mum that night. Though she'd been gone a few years, your memories of her were still fresh, so fresh I almost felt I had met her, that I knew her.

I really miss her, you said. I wish you met her, you said. She could pray... if she was still here I won't have made half the mistakes I did. You sighed.

I want to marry a woman - one who can pray - like my mother.

I looked at my self. On your bed. No clothes on. I couldn't pray, I wouldn't. What would I say? Oh God, bless me? I wasn't ready to mock God. I had watched too many Nollywood movies to know that God's wrath, when it came,  could be swift. Deadly.

I didn't want to be an example.

You were younger. I knew right away. Your pictures on Facebook further drove home the point.

I knew, but then, I didn't care.

Your reaction when I told you hurt me real deep. You bitched and you moaned. You said you wished it weren't so. You wished I were younger; you wished you were older. I wished age didn't matter, but it did.

Then you told me that you loved me but wouldn't let me go. You would hold on until I got another fellow. That you could meet someone, younger, before then never crossed your mind.

Your family's opinion meant so much to you. You said they wouldn't allow you, especially your oldest brother's. You were still young, you weren't ready. You didn't have your own house, You didn't want to keep me waiting. Yet you loved me and would not leave me nor let me go, till I got another fellow.

Your words made me angry.

But still I stayed.