I Sold My Tomorrow for His Today

They say love makes people blind. I used to disagree until I became the example people point at when they say it.

I was an only child, raised by parents who believed in hard work and dignity. When they passed, they left me one precious thing: a small piece of land. It wasn’t just property; it was security, history, and proof that someone once planned for my future. I promised myself I would use it wisely.

Then I met Folarin.

He was brilliant, determined, and full of dreams bigger than his pockets. He spoke about university the way hungry people talk about food longingly, desperately. I was already struggling with my own school fees, but when he looked at me and said, “If I don’t get this education, my life is finished,” something inside me softened.

I started helping small-small. Transport money. Food. Books. Then tuition. Every time I paid, he would hold my hands and say, “You are my backbone. I will never forget this.” He talked about marriage like it was already written in the stars. He said once he graduated and got a job, his first salary every kobo would go to my school fees. I held on to that promise like a life jacket.

My friends warned me.

“Don’t overdo.”

“Be careful.”

“Men don’t value what they don’t suffer for.”

When they heard I was considering selling the land, they almost staged an intervention. They said kindness like this only ends in tears. I smiled and ignored them. I thought love meant sacrifice. I thought loyalty would be rewarded. I told myself, At least if tomorrow comes, I won’t regret doing good.

So I sold the land.

Handing over that money felt like tearing a page out of my own life, but Folarin cried when I gave it to him. He said no one had ever loved him like that. He said, “How can I leave you after this?” In those moments, I felt secure. Chosen. Certain.

He graduated.

I was the happiest person at the ceremony. I shouted his name louder than anyone. I imagined our future him working, me in school, us growing together. When he got a job, I waited patiently. I had finally enrolled in university, trusting his word.

That was when he changed.

The calls reduced. His tone hardened. Small issues became big arguments. He complained about things that never bothered him before my questions, my needs, my presence. I felt like I was suddenly too much after years of being everything.

Then came the shock.

He said he couldn’t wait anymore.

He said he wanted to get married.

He said he was seeing someone else.

Just like that.

I remember staring at the wall after the call ended, waiting for the pain to make noise. But it was silent heavy, crushing, humiliating. The same man who couldn’t survive without me suddenly had a new future that didn’t include me.

People talked.

Some insulted me.

“Fool.”

“Doormat.”

“We warned you.”

My friends were angry on my behalf. Others tried to console me, but even comfort sounded like judgment. The worst voice was my own. I kept asking myself how I could be so stupid, how love turned me into someone who gave away her future for promises.

I struggled to pay my school fees alone. There were days I skipped meals. Days I cried in bathrooms so no one would see me break. But somehow, I kept going.

So, am I truly a fool?

If being a fool means choosing kindness over calculation, then maybe I was one. But I survived. I learned. And I am still standing wiser, stronger, and no longer willing to trade my future for empty promises.

Love didn’t destroy me.

It revealed me.

And this time, I will love myself first.