Until My Last Breath: A True Story of Love, Sacrifice, and a Devotion That Wouldn’t Die by Jeffery Opoku - HTML preview

Chapter Three

The Undertaken

Time passed, and after a semester, it was finally time for my girlfriend’s younger brother to leave my family’s house. That day, when his mother came to pick him up, everything broke apart. It’s painful and even embarrassing to recall. My family hurled insults labelled her family ungrateful and did things I never imagined they were capable of.

My elder sister picked up her phone and sent dozens of vulgar messages, insulting my girlfriend, her mother, and every member of their family. I can barely recall what exactly triggered all of this, but it started with something very trivial; something so small that it should have been brushed aside. Yet somehow, my family blew it completely out of proportion.

I wanted the ground to swallow me. My girlfriend cried and cried that day. I thought it would end everything between us. But by God’s grace, we held on. Her family never retaliated; not a single word of insult or payback. That silence spoke volumes. I cried too. And from that moment on, my

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relationship with my mother and sister changed. I began to resent them deeply because the embarrassment they caused me was too great to carry.

And yet, through all this, her mother still loved me. She truly did, and I loved her too. Despite the chaos and betrayal from my own blood, I held tightly to the woman I loved, I mean “Me Maame”. There were nights we cried in each other’s arms. We were all we had. This was the beginning of our sorrow.

Later on, my mom made it painfully clear that she was never going to allow or accept the marriage. She came up with stories, suspicions, and strong declarations that the family of the woman I loved wasn’t “good enough” for me. My goodness. I couldn’t believe it.

I fought her on those words, and that fight turned into a long, bitter standoff. For two whole years, I stood my ground. I had no regular conversations with my sister. Sometimes I would go weeks without speaking to my mom, only sending her the monthly remittance out of duty. I had drawn a line. I was fighting my mother for My Mother (Me Maame).

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There was no way I was going to leave the woman I loved. I had seen eternity in her eyes. We both knew we were made for each other. She would ask me sometimes in tears, “J, aren’t you going to leave me because of all this?” And I would say without blinking, “I’m not going anywhere my love. I am with you till my last breath, and I meant it.”

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