She had a business she was running. Some days bakery, some days cosmetics, other times an event organizer. She always had something going for her. I loved that about her, the fact that the woman in my life wanted to do something with her life and not depend on men for her sustenance.

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I supported her in every way I could. I did social posts for her and sometimes managed her pages for her. Because of her, I learned how to use Canva and some social apps so I could design things for her. When she had an event and needed videos, I was the videographer. When she needed photos, I was her plug.

She had a 9–5 job too, but at some point she told me she wanted to leave the 9–5 job to concentrate on her businesses. I sided with her, though I was scared. The “what ifs” were too many, but she didn’t seem to have any fear.

Just a year after leaving her 9–5 job, things started slowing down. The orders stopped coming, and I realized she had stopped pushing. At first, she would be in the trenches looking for orders but she stopped doing all that and instead started complaining about the economy.

Any idea I brought to help get things back to normal, she kicked against it. She’s the kind of woman who knew what she was about. She had a plan all the time, so when she said I should believe in what she was doing, I sat back and watched.

She came to me one evening and said, “All I need is GHC30,000 to get things back to normal again.” I asked what she wanted to do, and she laid out a perfect plan and execution process, something I always loved about her. “If I had a quarter of her grit and master plan, I would be a billionaire,” I told her often. The plan was lofty and flowery, but how were we going to raise that amount?

She told me she didn’t believe her family would help, so she was looking up to me to do some magic. “Help me. I will pay back within four months unless you don’t believe.”

I could take a loan from work. Based on my salary, I could only take GHC20,000 to be paid back in a year. I told her, and she said, “Go for it, and I will also look around for the rest.”

So I put in the application, and a few weeks later, the money was in. She knelt and thanked me profusely. That night, the sex was different. It was as though she was thanking me in a language I couldn’t understand. I just surrendered and watched her speak the language in any form she wanted.

A few weeks later, I heard in the grapevine that my girlfriend had traveled abroad. I knew she was traveling. I knew she was going to Accra to procure the things she needed for the new business, and she was going to spend a few days there, but the grapevine story said she had traveled abroad. When I heard the story, I called her phone so we could laugh about it. Her phone was off. All day, I wasn’t able to reach her.

I had started believing the grapevine story, but I thought I should confirm it from a known source, so I asked her younger sister, and she grinned before asking me, “Oh, you didn’t know? You, of all people?”

That girl was capable of many things, including mischief, so I waited for her call to tell me she was trying to surprise me. A week went by slowly, and then another, and then another. That call never came. I asked her sister if she had her number. I texted her through her social media pages, even through the business pages we both ran together. No answer came from her.

Three months later, I was still hoping for a call that would say, “Oh, I’m sorry, but things have been tough since I got here, that’s why you haven’t heard from me.” Instead, I saw her in a photo she took on a train, seated next to a guy with her head on his shoulder, captioned, “This is the new life.”

“Eiii Akos, when did the life we had get old and die without me knowing?” I quickly typed under the photo, “I’ve been texting you. Please check your inbox.”

I stayed in her inbox for hours without a response. I went back to the photo to write another comment when I realized she had responded to every comment on the photo, but my comment was nowhere to be found. She had deleted my comment. I wrote again, “Are we fighting? Are we enemies? Why are you treating me this way?”

Again, that comment was deleted.

I wrote in her inbox, “So when am I going to receive the loan you took from me? You know it’s a loan I took from the office. I can’t pay it all by myself.”

She responded, “I will send you money once I settle. Give me a few months.” I quickly wrote again, “Is that all you can say? So that was the plan all along?” She responded, “Life happens. I needed this opportunity, and I took it. I’m sorry, but I will pay your money back as soon as possible.”

It wasn’t about the money. Yes, it was important, but it wasn’t the most important thing on my plate. I wanted proper closure. I wanted to hear the whole story from her but she concluded, “Nothing I say will make sense to you but worry not, I will pay your money back.”

A few months later, her dad gave me GHC5,000. Another time, her sister sent me GHC5,000 through MoMo, and then one day I received GHC3,000. She hasn’t paid any money again, but as I write this, I can see her wedding photos with the same man she was on the train with. The new beginning has matured into marriage. The pain is still fresh in my heart. The deceit was so intentional it brings me to my knees anytime I think of it.

Everyone says I should be the bigger person and let it go, but come and look at my size, I’m too small. If I try being the bigger person, I will swell and burst like a balloon, so to hell with being the bigger person. I sent her a text: “I don’t wish you well. May you suffer double the pain you put me through. I was genuine and helpful; God is my witness. I use what you owe as the point of contact to bring nothing but pain and disappointment into your life.”

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She blocked me, but I’m happy she read that, and I know for the rest of her life, even if nothing happens to her, she will be haunted by that message she read. Because that will be part of her love story—the honest version she might never tell anyone. I’m learning to move on. Gradually, I will heal, but she will never heal from the mark of my words.

—Osei Plato 

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