The first time I met him was six years ago. I had come home from Canada for a short visit. He proposed to me, but I didn’t accept immediately. I asked if he had a girlfriend, and he said no. I asked if I said yes, another lady wouldn’t appear out of nowhere to confront me, and he laughed. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said. “If you say yes, it will be only you.”

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So I said yes, and we started dating. I never imagined that this meeting would rewrite the course of my life and bring me to where I am now. He was charming and soft-spoken, the kind of man who listened with his eyes. I believed it was going to be the love story I had always waited for.

When I returned to Canada, we kept talking through voice notes, late-night calls, good-morning messages that made the distance feel smaller. Three months later, I missed my period. When the test came back positive, I called him, nervous but hopeful. “I’m pregnant,” I said.

He was so overjoyed we started planning our traditional marriage and dreaming of a family that would bridge continents.

When our son was born, I decided I didn’t want to be alone. It was time for us to be together. I asked him again, for the hundredth time, if he had a girlfriend. His answer was firm and unwavering. “Never,” he said. “It’s only you.”

I believed him.

I wanted him to come to Canada so badly that I offered to sponsor him, but I later changed my mind. I suggested he come on a student visa instead, which was a faster route. I told him once he arrived, we’d marry here, and I would sponsor him so we could start afresh as a family. He agreed.

But when it was time to travel, something strange happened. I was in Toronto waiting for his arrival when he told me he’d bought a ticket to Vancouver instead. “Just a cheaper route,” he said casually. I didn’t question it. Love blinds you that way.

Unbeknownst to me, he chose to land in Vancouver because he had a girlfriend there. Since then, peace has left my home. That woman in Vancouver never stopped calling him through phone calls and video calls. He would be with me and would be talking to this woman, smiling and acting like a boy with a new toy. When I complained, he turned vicious. He would insult me, then go silent and act like I didn’t matter in his world.

I began to regret everything; the marriage, bringing him here and I even cursed the day we met.

Still, I stayed. When I got pregnant again, I told myself maybe things would change after I gave birth to our second child. The baby girl arrived not long ago, a tiny and perfect bundle of joy.

Then one afternoon, I was feeding the baby when my phone rang. The number was unknown.

“Hello?” I said.
“Good afternoon,” a familiar voice replied.

It was his best friend, the one who used to visit us every Sunday with wine and laughter. But his tone was different now—heavy and uncertain.

“Please, I have something to tell you,” he said. “Something you deserve to know.”

And then he poured out the truth like poison.

“Your husband has a serious girlfriend in Vancouver,” he said, “a woman he has promised to marry.”

He was building a house for her in Ghana, spending on her like there was no tomorrow. Everyone in their circle knew that lady as his wife. He even sent money to her parents in Ghana, treating them like in-laws.

I have a business here in Canada. The savings I made from my business, this man has used on his girlfriend. He’d emptied our joint account to fund his double life, while I thought he was using the money for the good of the family.

I listened in silence as the friend spoke, every word slicing deeper. He told me to be careful and watchful, and that anytime my husband came home with a frown on his face, it meant he had a fight with the woman in Vancouver.

He got a new job in a different city, so he spends more time there than with us. He comes here only on weekends. He told me that when my husband said he was working in another city, it wasn’t just work. He was meeting the lady, spending nights in her arms while I stayed home with our children, believing he was working overtime for our family.

Even after all that, I still tried to protect him. The very first day he landed in Canada, I advised him to go to school since he came on a student visa. He ignored my advice. Five months ago, immigration wrote to him to explain why he didn’t go to school when he was on a student visa. I went to immigration with him, and since I’m a Canadian citizen, I filed for his residency. They were ready to grant it because of our two children.

But now, after knowing everything, my heart is done. I have decided to withdraw my application, and the moment I do that, he will be deported. He’s begging for forgiveness, shedding tears, making promises and empty words. But I feel nothing. The love has died; the trust is buried.

My parents are begging on his behalf. They are telling me not to withdraw the application. “Think of the children,” they say. “Let him stay, but make him pay for the documents instead.”

But I can’t forget. I can’t unsee the lies, the betrayal, the humiliation. This man has no good intentions toward me.
If I cancel the application, he’ll be deported as soon as possible. There’s already a deportation notice on his file for refusing to attend school.

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So here I am, torn between mercy and justice. Do I take the money and let him stay, or cancel everything and watch him go back to where it all began? I stare at him sometimes as he pleads, and I wonder, how can someone destroy you so quietly and still ask to be saved? I don’t know what to do. Should I let immigration deport him… or should I take the money and keep pretending we’re still a family?

—Anokyewaa

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