My ‘Perfect Christian Fiancé’ Had Rules for Me That He Didn’t Follow Himself — The Day I Caught Him Kissing Another Woman Broke Everything

Hazel is willing to obey a man who claims to be godly in the name of love when she falls in love with him. However, the more she bends, the more she breaks, until everything is shattered in one terrible moment.

I believed I had at last found someone decent when I was 25.

Elias was his name. He was twenty-seven years old, calm, attractive, and exuded a peaceful confidence that caused others to sag a bit. and give it a bit more attention.

A friend’s residence hosted a small Bible study group where we first met. He was instantly noticeable. He consistently steered the conversation back toward God while quoting scripture. He seemed overconfident all the time.

I allowed myself to imagine a future with someone for the first time in years. a life based on peace, common ideals, and faith. Everything seemed secure and safe, as if perhaps I wouldn’t get hurt or let down this time.

Elias gave the impression that he was above all of that, that he was subservient to a greater power than his ego or inclination.

However, I can now see how I chose to ignore the discomfort. The way he always attached conditions to his compliments. His remarks about other ladies were excessively loud, ostentatious, and flamboyant.

“You don’t want to be the kind of woman men stare at, Hazel,” he stated one day following a service. “You want to be the one they respect.”

I considered it wisdom at the time. Perhaps even love.

Elias quickly sat me down and described what he termed the “guardrails of a holy courtship.” He never used the word rules, but they were a set of requirements that gave me little leeway to be anything other than modest.

He started out cautiously, like he was giving a present. He even offered me shortbread wrapped in chocolate and made me a cup of tea.

“Hazel,” he replied, “I need you to take this conversation seriously.”

I gave a nod. I wanted to see what he had planned for our life, but I had no idea where he was taking this.

“There will be no physical contact before marriage, Hazel,” he stated. “Not even kissing. That kind of intimacy is reserved for your husband in private.”

“Wait, Elias… not even a kiss?”

He grinned as though he had practiced that same moment a hundred times.

“It’s for your own good, sweetheart. Kissing leads to other things, and we don’t want to fall into temptation, do we? This is about protecting you, and about honoring God.”

I hesitated for a while, but I kept quiet.

Next followed the remainder.

“Your skirts should fall below the ankle. Sleeves should be down to the wrist,” he stated. “Modesty is a gift to the men around you, Hazel. It’s a sign of your respect for their struggle.”

Do you struggle? He appeared to be a complete stranger to me for a brief while. Worse than that, he wasn’t upset. He wasn’t speaking louder. It was more unnerving in some way because of that.

“No tight clothing. Nothing form-fitting. As for makeup… if you must wear it, keep it minimal. A woman’s beauty shouldn’t distract from her character.”

He took a moment, perhaps to let everything to settle and to check if I would protest. I simply nodded slowly and hesitantly. I had a dry mouth. I continued trying to convince myself that this was okay even though my mind was racing.

It was devotion. It was discipline.

Nevertheless, Elias went on.

“No close friendships with men. Emotional or personal conversations are dangerous. The devil thrives in emotional connections outside of marriage. You know that, right?”

I turned to face my hands.

“No worldly media. No movies, music, or social platforms until the Church deems it fit. The rest will corrupt your spirit.”

I started by saying, “But, Elias, I — “

He held up a hand softly.

“Hazel, I know you think it’s harmless. But I’m trying to protect our future.”

He continued.

“When we’re married, I expect you to stay home. I’ll provide for us. Your calling will be raising our children and caring for our home.”

“What about work? I mean, I adore my job, Elias.”

He smiled slightly, sympathetically.

“I know. But the world teaches women to chase independence instead of peace. You’ll see. This is better. This is so much better.”

“And lastly,” he continued, his voice becoming softer as though he were giving romance, “we’ll pray together every morning and every night. That’s how a godly couple stays connected.”

I remarked, “Wow… that’s a lot,” and laughed awkwardly.

“Hazel, this is a narrow path, and I want to lead you toward holiness. There’s nothing wrong with living life the right way, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

And I managed to say yes in spite of the voice yelling in my head and the pain in my chest.

I complied with all of his requests.

Only mascara and lip balm remained when I packed up my pants and cosmetics. I packed up the books I loved and erased my Spotify playlists. After exhausting workdays, I quit watching the shows that used to make me feel better.

I declined brunches. I didn’t celebrate birthdays. I refused to have coffee with people who chose not to “live by the Word.”

I assumed Elias meant faith when he talked about obedience. I made an effort to believe him when he claimed that love was submission.

I buttoned up long, shapeless blouses and tucked my hair back into a low, neat bun every morning. This, I told myself, was the appearance of a virtuous woman. Even when I was tired, when I hadn’t slept well, and when I thought God wasn’t listening to me, I prayed twice a day with Elias on speakerphone.

Two weeks into our engagement, we spent a night playing a Bible trivia game with some friends. I started laughing a lot when Elias mispronounced “Nebuchadnezzar” so terribly that it sounded like nonsense. I was unable to resist. Everyone else laughed as well.

Elias even gave a fleeting smile.

His voice, however, changed later in the automobile.

Without glancing at me, he said, “Hazel, that wasn’t appropriate.” “Women shouldn’t draw attention to themselves like that.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I uttered in swift succession. “It was just… funny.”

Calmly, “I’m not angry, sweetheart,” he answered. “But we’re setting an example. People look to us. You don’t want to be remembered for how loud your laugh is.”

For the remainder of the drive home, I silently reprimanded myself while gazing out the window.

“He’s right, Hazel. This is what discipline looks like. You’re growing. Evolving. This is love.”

It was two months later. We had yet to share a single kiss.

Elias shook his head when I eventually brought it up, very softly and politely.

“We aren’t like other couples. We’re saving ourselves completely. That’s what makes it sacred.”

I refrained from arguing. I simply swallowed the pain and nodded.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he said, almost to himself, at one point. “I saw what unfaithfulness did to my family, and I promised I’d live differently. My father just… went too far.”

But gradually, everything began to feel… away. He would excuse himself to the corridor when his phone buzzed. He would be cleaning messages or shutting down apps if I entered too soon.

I asked him once, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s just ministry stuff, Hazel.”

I trusted him. I wanted to think he was real. However, the silent doubt started to feel like icy water in my chest.

Then everything fell apart one Friday evening.

I had attended a calm book club meeting at a friend’s apartment; there was tea, paperbacks, and nothing out of the ordinary. I clung to those little moments of normalcy like air since it was one of the few things I still permitted myself to enjoy.

I made the decision to walk home when it finished early. The streets were quiet, and the air was chilly.

I saw that the lights were still on as I passed the community center where Elias helped on Friday nights. They had propped open the front doors. Something prompted me to look toward the front stairs even though I hadn’t intended to.

I saw him at that point.

Another woman was being kissed by him. It wasn’t a courteous kiss, either. It wasn’t a single mistake.

No, it was personal. It was recognizable. Elias cradled her cheek with one hand while the other rested on her waist. She was laughing, softly, like if they had done this before, and she leaned toward him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I stopped moving.

I was seeing things that my brain was unable to process. I felt chilled. The sidewalk seemed like cement to my feet.

My fiancé—the man who reprimanded me for attracting attention to myself, stated that kissing would dishonor God, and said that holding hands was too close to temptation—was standing on church property, kissing another lady as if it didn’t matter.

“No way,” I said out in a whisper.

I squinted and took a tentative step forward. It was unquestionably Elias. Additionally, I recognized the woman. She was employed at the coffee shop close to my workplace. I had once seen her at a service. She was deemed “too flirtatious” by Elias, who advised me to stay away from her entirely.

She was giving him a kiss now.

She mocked, “You’re bad, Eli,” as she drew away from him and burst out laughing.

He traced the curve of her jaw with his hand and whispered, “You bring it out of me…”

I felt sick to my stomach.

Before either of them could see me, I turned and left. I refrained from crying. I refrained from screaming. I simply continued to walk, one step at a time, as though I were witnessing the slow-motion disintegration of someone else’s life.

I gave him a call the following morning. I hadn’t practiced my response. I didn’t have to. The weight of what I’d witnessed had sunk into my chest like wet cement, and my heart was still racing.

The second ring caught his attention.

“Elias,” I blurted out, attempting to say everything before I gave in. “I saw you last night. I saw you kissing her outside the community center.”

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A pause occurred. A bit too lengthy.

His words faltered, sloppy and panicked, “That’s not what it looked like.”

I tightened my hold on the phone.

“It’s exactly what it looked like. You made me follow all your rules. You wouldn’t even let me kiss you. And now you’re out there kissing another woman like none of it matters?”

He groaned and said, “I… Hazel, I was lonely,” “I wasn’t thinking clearly. You’ve been distant lately.”

My mouth became parched.

“I’ve been distant?! Elias, I gave up everything for you. My friends, my job, even my voice. I did everything you asked so I could be worthy of you. And now you’re blaming me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said to himself. “You’re twisting this. You’re making this ugly.”

“No, Elias!” I firmly responded. “I’m finally seeing it clearly. You’re not holy. You’re just a fraud.”

His voice was softer as he tried again.

“I made a mistake. Doesn’t everybody? I’m only human, Hazel. Haven’t you ever —”

Before he could finish, I hung up. His voice was gone from my ears after that.

I didn’t inform the church about him. I didn’t have to take any action because destiny quickly stepped in.

A friend texted me a few weeks later. Another had stepped forward. The board started looking into it. They urged Elias to resign. His reputation naturally fell apart—not because of me, but rather because the truth had been lurking there.

Then the calls began.

“Please don’t cancel the engagement,” Elias’ mother Charlotte pleaded in one voicemail. “He needs you. He’s so lost without you.”

I didn’t answer.

She then arrived at my door.

When I opened it, her face was lined with concern, and her eyes were crimson. As if she had no other use for her hands, she clasped them together.

She whispered, “He’s my son,” “He’s ashamed. He’s struggling. Please… don’t give up on him, Hazel. Please, my darling.”

Charlotte struck me as someone who had likely been told to keep silent her entire life. who most likely had complied with laws that did not shield her.

I declared, “I’m not giving up,” “I’m choosing myself. I won’t marry a man who makes rules he doesn’t follow. I won’t live in silence so someone else can pretend they’re righteous.”

She nodded after giving a sharp blink. She remained silent for a moment.

I gave back my engagement ring that evening. I briefly held it in my hand before releasing it.

The grief came in waves for a while. I wept for the self I buried in order to conform to Elias’s expectations. I wept for the girl who believed that she would be loved if she obeyed. who thought she would become closer to God if she shrank.

But gradually, it became simpler.

I observed that the sun no longer felt heavy when I woke up one morning. I made coffee and played the music I had unquestioningly erased. As I prepared breakfast, I joined in on the song. I didn’t apologize for my loud, unfiltered laughter.

In disguise as wisdom, I can still hear his voice in my thoughts some mornings. However, I’m learning to distinguish between faith and fear. I’m relearning to believe in my own voice.

Then I ran into Elias at the grocery store one afternoon. He appeared smaller than I remembered, standing close to the fruit. Before I could turn away, his eyes met mine.

“Hazel,” he murmured. “I’ve been praying that I’d run into you.”

I gave a courteous nod but remained silent.

“I’ve… I’ve been meaning to apologize. I made mistakes. Big ones. But I hope, in time, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. That’s what the Lord would want.”

“God may want forgiveness, Elias. But He also wants truth. You never offered me that, not once.”

I was already turning away when he began to say something else.

I grabbed a packet of dried chili flakes as I strolled down the spice section. I picked up a fillet of hake as I walked past the freezer area. Next, I discovered a can of my preferred brand of coconut milk. That evening, I was preparing dinner. Something I desired. Something I enjoyed.

I sensed the quiet calm of someone who had nothing to prove as I made my way down the aisles.

Matthew, the man I’m currently seeing, sprang to mind. The person who joins me in prayer because we both desire to experience God together, not because it’s required. The person who compliments me on my appearance, not because I’m modest, but because I’m still here.

I’m free to laugh aloud with Matthew. I can dance in the kitchen, wear what I want, watch what I like, and express my thoughts without feeling constrained.

He doesn’t use sacrifice or quiet to gauge my value.

All he sees is me. He also adores me.

I prepared hake with coconut milk and chili flakes that evening. I poured wine into a glass. I set some candles on fire. And I gave thanks to God for restoring my identity.

I opened my laptop and registered for a weekend writing session a few weeks later. I used to dream about telling important stories. I was finally allowing myself to try now.