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I never imagined that helping someone build a better life could one day turn into a deep financial and emotional wound that still bleeds in silence.
I met her during school portal registration. She looked lost, young, and hopeful. She told me she wanted to further her education but did not know where to start. I saw her as a project, not just a girlfriend. I promised to support her, and from that moment, my pocket became her source. SEE HOW I AM BUILDING WEALTH ONLINE IN 2025 USING THE TWO ENGINE BUSINESS MODEL: A CLEAR STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE BY PRUDENT JOSHUA
I paid for everything. I did not just give her money, I gave her a future—school fees, acceptance fee, laptop, textbooks, clothes, and even feeding. Her own parents never supported her; they even denied her access to the ₦50,000 she saved with her mother. But I still pressed on because I believed in her dreams more than she did. I believed love was enough to carry us.
Then she got pregnant.
I was in Alaba market when she called, sick and scared. I rushed to her place and took her straight to the hospital. The result hit hard: one week pregnant. We were both shocked. But I told her, “You will not go through this alone.”
That was the beginning of my financial drain.
I called her parents to explain. Her father ignored me. Her mother tried to slap me. But I apologised with everything in me. They told me to take her away—pregnancy was shame to them. They did not even let her pack a pant. I took her home and became a father even before the baby came.
I registered her for antenatal, bought all the baby items with my money, and catered for her like my own blood. I bought her a new phone. We went for her matriculation. I even missed major sales in the market just to attend school events for her. Every kobo I had was either going to food, hospital, or baby needs. Nobody helped me. Not even her parents.
Then, when she delivered—thank God, both baby and mother survived—her family refused to come. I begged. I cried. I was broke. I was sick with malaria. But they still stayed away. My neighbour was the one that helped me bathe the baby and take care of her.
Later, her mother came. That visit changed everything.
Money started coming in from relatives abroad after they saw that their daughter had delivered. But then came the disrespect. Her mother called me names, insulted me, even hit me in my house. The same house I paid rent for. The same kitchen I stocked with my own money. Even the girl I spent my life on turned against me.
She started dressing up and going out without explanation. She flirted openly. When I questioned her, she slapped me. Twice. When I almost reacted, she ran to my aunt to complain. I was the bad guy now, after all I did.
I took her back to her parents, thinking it would bring peace. Instead, they seized my own child from her and forced her into my hands. I gave her the baby back and sent ₦20,000 to support them. I told them I would return the following week.
But when I tried to leave, her father said I could not go unless I dropped my phone or paid money. They beat me and stoned me. I ran into the bush. That day, I thought I would die—not from a thief, not from accident, but from the very people I had financially carried for years.
I found help from a kind man in the community who calmed the mob and helped me explain myself. I later agreed with her family to be sending ₦60,000 monthly, even though her mother demanded ₦90,000. I sent ₦40,000 the first month. They said it was too small. Since then, they blocked all access to my baby and the mother.
I have not seen my child. I do not know how they are doing. I am emotionally drained. Financially dry. I sacrificed everything—my time, my peace, my savings, my health.
I thought I was building a future with someone. I did not know I was taking a loan with no return on investment.
Dear reader, if you are reading this, let me say one thing:
Love without financial wisdom is dangerous.
Do not pour everything into someone just because you care. Love with your heart, but guide your wallet with sense.
I am still healing. Still confused. But I hope my story makes you think twice before you turn your love into a charity project.
Stay smart. Stay strong. Stay Prudent.
— Prudent Joshua
