She always walked with a little girl by her side. In the morning, she would take her to school and go for her in the evening. On Sundays, they went to church beautifully dressed and walked by my house. One day, I approached her, and she told me the little girl was her daughter. I said she was lying, and then she smiled. The little girl added, “She’s my mother.”

She looked too young and rounded. Nothing about her said she had a child. That didn’t affect my feelings for her. I only needed to know there was no one in her life, and when she told me she was single and that her baby’s father wasn’t in the picture, I proposed to her. She thought about it for days before eventually saying yes.

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When I’m in love, I don’t hide it. The world would know and bear witness to every little step I take because when I was single, they were active witnesses to my lonely days and nights. I went everywhere with the two of them. I treated the little girl like my own daughter. Sometimes, she would sit on my lap while I drove.

She was always with me and, at some point, she stayed with me for over a month before she went back home once and then came again. Our relationship was just four months old when I found out the first lie. The girl wasn’t her only child. She had an older son who was living with her mother.

She told me herself when I pressed to see her parents or anyone from her family. She said, “I didn’t tell you this. It was hard for me to tell you because you didn’t believe I was a mother at first. There’s a boy too. He lives with my mom.”

I was very disappointed. All my life, I never dreamt of being with a woman with a kid. She made it easier for me to be with one, and now the kids were two? I asked why she lied to me. She said she didn’t lie. She just didn’t talk about it, and she regretted it. She wanted to tell me, but she didn’t want to lose me, and also, I didn’t believe she could have a child.

I stopped talking to her for a while. I needed to reassess my feelings and know if it was OK for me to be with her. When we came back together, I asked questions. She said the father was different from that of the girl, and he didn’t accept the pregnancy, so he doesn’t even care for the child. I stayed with her. I was too deeply committed to just walk away.

She thanked me for taking her back and called me God-sent. “How many men would forgive this?” she asked me. “It only shows you’re the right man for me.”

Just when I thought I’d shaken off the first lie and had come to terms with it, another one resurfaced. That threw me off balance, and I quickly warned her to stay out of my life. She had another daughter who was twelve years old. She had her when she was eighteen years old. It was a cousin of a friend who knew her history who told my cousin, and my cousin also told me that she had three children and not two.

I threw her things out of my room. Everything she had left in my room. I locked my door and warned her not to return. She tried to explain, but I wouldn’t listen. She sent voice notes telling me how she was raped as a child and the baby resulted from it. She said it was her trauma, and she had spent all her life trying to forget it. It was the reason her aunt adopted the child when the child was less than two years old.

She had too much history for me to listen to. Nothing would make me take her back, and I made her aware of that. Weeks later, when she realised this was the final call, she came to tell me, “You need to compensate me for wasting over a year of my life. I thought it was marriage, so if it’s not, then compensate me.”

I was willing to until she told me what she wanted as compensation. She wanted me to pay three years of her rent, change her phone, and also give her a lump sum of GHC50,000.

I screamed, “You’re mad! I won’t give you a penny. Those men you carried their children for nine months, how much did they give you?”

She responded, “You called me mad? Wait and witness my mad show.”

She would come to my house late at night and knock for hours. She wouldn’t let me sleep until I paid her the compensation. One morning, I was in bed when, all of a sudden, I heard, “Tam!” She had thrown a bucket of water through my window, wetting my bed, myself, and the whole room.

When I looked through the window, she screamed, “Today is cold water. Tomorrow, you won’t have it this cold. You’ll pay me.”

I told her she would hear from the police very soon. She screamed, “Bring hundreds of them. They’ll come and meet a mad woman.”

I was shocked. It never dawned on me even once that this girl could be this violent. She was ever so sweet when we dated, but all of a sudden, she was acting like a woman possessed. I went to her house to talk to her. She was scared I was bringing the police, so she relocated after the water incident.

I woke up one morning, and all my tyres were flat, and a big rock was on the bonnet of my car. She had texted me at dawn saying, “Next time, the rock won’t be on the bonnet. It will go through the windscreen and the back one. You’ll pay me.”

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

I went to the police station and made a report of harassment. They laughed when I narrated the story. One of them, a lady, asked, “So you want us to go and arrest a mother of three? Can’t you resolve it quietly with her?”

I answered, “Just put some fear in her before she comes after my life.”

They invited her to the station, and she was made to sign a bond that she would never come close to me again. Those crazy visitations stopped, but she texts me, reminding me that I owe her money.

I still call her mad because what is this?

—Asiamah

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