Not good enough

Adama was a smart, confident young woman from a quiet middle-class family. Her father was a university lecturer in Bauchi and her late mother had been a school teacher. She grew up with strong values, a love for medicine and the belief that hard work and kindness would always speak louder than money or status.

One evening, while in a chatroom for medical doctors, a conversation came up about how some doctors treat accident victims and people with gunshot wounds with careless attitudes. Adama’s passionate response stood out. She argued firmly that doctors had a duty to save lives, regardless of circumstances. Her words caught the attention of another doctor in the group, Adeolu.

Curious, Adeolu clicked on her profile. She was not only intelligent but breathtakingly beautiful. He reached out to her in a private message, half-expecting her to ignore him but she didn’t. Her warmth and maturity surprised him. They began to talk—first online, then on phone and later through video calls. Their conversations grew longer, their bond stronger. Adeolu knew he was smitten. Eventually, he asked Adama to be his girlfriend. She said yes.

Fourteen months passed. It was time to meet in person. Adama took a long flight from Bauchi to Lagos. At the airport, Adeolu was even more handsome in real life. Then she saw his car—sleek and expensive. Jokingly, she teased that maybe doctors in Lagos were really living large and maybe she should consider moving.

The next surprise was the hotel he booked for her. It was beautiful, far above her expectations. For a moment, she became uneasy. Could Adeolu be involved in something shady? But he read the look on her face and quickly assured her she had nothing to fear.

They spent a few beautiful days together. It was clear they were made for each other. One evening, Adeolu went down on one knee and proposed. Unknown to her, he had bought the ring six months earlier—he was that sure she was the one.

The following day, he picked her up for dinner with his family. Adama was stunned by the sheer luxury of his family home. Until then, she had no idea he came from wealth. She asked why he hid it and he said he wanted someone who loved him for who he was. Girls usually chased him for his money but with Adama, it had been different.

Dinner started well. His family was pleased with her beauty and they became even more impressed when she spoke about her work as an otolaryngologist and her budding interest in reconstructive surgeries. But everything changed the moment she mentioned her background—her late mother was a teacher, her father a lecturer in Bauchi and she was originally from Kogi.

Every single person at the table froze. The mood turned cold. Adeolu’s mother broke the silence, declaring that her son could never marry someone like Adama. In her words, it didn’t “fit their social status.” She insisted that her husband would turn in his grave if their son married a “nobody.”

Adeolu was furious. He told his mother she had no right to choose who he loved. But his mother refused to back down, saying it would be over her dead body.

Adama quietly stood up and walked out. Adeolu followed her, ignoring his mother’s angry rant behind them. He tried to convince Adama to stay calm, to focus on their love. But Adama was heartbroken. This wasn’t the love story she imagined. She had never planned to fight anyone for a man’s heart. Her father raised her with dignity and respect and she wasn’t ready to throw that away.

That night, she packed her bags and booked a flight back to Bauchi. On the dining table at Adeolu’s house, she left behind her engagement ring.

The weeks that followed were hard for Adeolu. Nothing brought him joy anymore. He missed her deeply. He traveled to Bauchi to see her and begged her to fight for their love but she gently refused.

Her words were firm: “I’m not about to become another mother and daughter-in-law story. Your family made it clear I’m a nobody. So what exactly am I fighting for?”

Back in Lagos, Adeolu became a shadow of himself. His mother watched his health decline and realized the cost of her actions. Swallowing her pride, she called Adama to apologize. She said Adama and Adeolu had her blessing now but Adama still refused. So the woman traveled all the way to Bauchi. But again, Adama told her no.

She explained that while she loved Adeolu with all her heart but she could never marry into a family that only accepted her out of fear or guilt. Adeolu’s mother didn’t come because she loved her or even liked her. She came because her son was suffering. Adama said that mattered but not enough.

She reminded her that she was also someone’s daughter. Her own father would be deeply concerned if she married into a family that barely tolerated her. She was not ready to be “managed” because of someone else’s discomfort.

Adama ended the conversation with a heavy heart. She told her how much she loved Adeolu—that he had shown her love the way she had always dreamed of but she wasn’t going to settle.

Adeolu’s mother left Bauchi in tears. She had expected Adama to jump at her offer. But she hadn’t understood the strength and values that Adama carried. She had lost a rare kind of woman—someone who would have made an amazing wife and a brilliant partner for Adeolu, both in life and in his father’s hospital. But it was too late.

All because she thought love should come with a rich family name or maybe an expensive price tag.