have always loved money—I have to admit that to myself. Poverty was never for me. Yes, poverty was not for me. I was not designed to suffer, and I preferred the soft life over struggling. I even found myself a blesser—my Uncle Patty.

Uncle Patty took care of everything: my apartment rent, food, toiletries, and all sorts of expensive luxuries. My job was simple—to look pretty and be his trophy girlfriend. He was 20 years older than me, but who cared? His wallet was handsome enough. Thanks to him, I never had to lift a finger. He even gifted me a car for my birthday. Uncle Patty was generous enough that I could send money back home to my mother and my son every month.

Uncle Patty wasn’t my actual uncle—he was a friend of my real uncle, my mom’s brother. My mother thought I had a high-paying job in the city. Little did she know I was with this older man for his money.

One day, Uncle Patty decided to take me on a trip to the city. I had no idea that this trip would change my life forever. As fate would have it, we were involved in a car accident. Uncle Patty sustained major head injuries because the oncoming vehicle had crashed straight into his car. He didn’t survive.

I was lucky enough to escape with minor injuries—just a few bruises and scratches. However, I wasn’t allowed to attend his funeral. His relatives and children called me a gold digger and a “hoe.” They knew my family but never suspected I had been involved with their father.

To add insult to injury, they took back the car he had gifted me. I had never bothered to ask for the papers, so I couldn’t prove it was mine.

Before his death, Uncle Patty had given me money to start a business and had been giving me cash for baby essentials after I lied about being pregnant. I thought I’d be okay for a while, but the money ran out much faster than I expected.

Life after Uncle Patty wasn’t the same. I had been spoiled and pampered for so long that adjusting to less was difficult. I tried to find another blesser, but I wasn’t lucky. Wherever I went, people whispered unpleasant things about me. They said I brought bad luck.

People avoided me because I had been in that car. I wasn’t Uncle Patty’s widow—I was just his girlfriend. Why was that so hard for people to understand?

I knew I had to make a plan because poverty was not my portion. So, I moved to another city.

One day, at a fast-food joint, I met a woman named Lucy. She exuded wealth and sophistication. She had forgotten her phone at the counter, and I rushed to return it to her in the parking lot. She was so thankful that she gave me $100 as a token of appreciation and handed me her business card.

I was intrigued. What kind of business was she in to afford such a luxurious lifestyle? I wasted no time contacting her. When I did, she invited me to her home.

Her house was a palace—a testament to her wealth. She laughed when I asked about her business and said, “Young girl, all this is the fruit of my labor. Look at you; you could have it all too.”

Then she dropped a bombshell. She told me she had clients worldwide who would pay big money for young, healthy girls like me. “No,” she quickly added, “this isn’t prostitution, darling.”

I was skeptical but intrigued. Lucy assured me everything would be taken care of—the paperwork, the visa, and the plane ticket. Soon, I was on my way to Oman.

Before I left, I promised my mother I would change our lives. I told her to inquire about private school fees for my son because I’d transfer him to a better school by the end of the year.

At the airport, I felt like I had finally made it in life. I posted pictures on social media, captioning them, “Your girl is coming back richer than ever!”

But now, every time I look back at that post, my heart sinks. Sometimes, I even cry. That day at the airport marked the beginning of a journey that would change everything I thought I knew about life and myself.