The last time I was here, I stood at a crossroads, asking myself a question no wife should ever have to ask: Should I collect the money for his documents, or should I let immigration do what the law was already prepared to do? At the time, it felt cruel to even think it. But living with a man who had mastered deceit teaches you that survival sometimes demands difficult choices. Not that I was scared to make difficult choices, but I wanted to make a choice that would serve me well and also help the growth of the children. Over 90% of the comments I read said I should allow the law to work. I should have him deported.

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But my family and his family wouldn’t let me rest my head and think of what next to do. The calls kept coming. Apologies from people I revered flooded my phone. So one day, after everything that had happened, both families agreed to sit down. My family. His family. We talked. We argued. We dissected the issue until there was nothing left to hide behind. Finally, a conclusion was reached: he would pay for the documents so he could continue staying in Canada. They asked how much I wanted, and I mentioned $30,000. No manipulation. No excuses. No delays. All I wanted was for the money to hit my account.

He promised to pay $20,000 in November 2025 and complete the rest when the approval arrived in December. We picked someone to be a witness. A grown man who heard the words clearly and nodded in agreement. I held on to that promise like a lifeline, convincing myself that maybe, just maybe, this was the moment he would finally do the right thing. He had the money to pay because he had the money. He got to Canada and started doing visa business. He would charge a person $10,000 to bring them to Canada. He had a lot of clients and even brought two of his friends here free of charge. That was the reason he was able to bring Jacqueline’s brother here free of charge.

That aside, he was working with his brother in Canada. His brother has been here for over 28 years. His brother had a contract with the Canadian government to fix water heaters and air conditioning. He was earning $7,000 a month from that business. That aside, he wasted the $50,000 we had in our joint account. He had money, and I knew that $30,000 wasn’t a lot of money for him to pay, but November came and went. Not a single dollar entered my account.

I waited. I watched the calendar. I watched him. When November was drawing to a close and there was still silence, I called the witness. I didn’t shout. I didn’t accuse. I simply asked a question: What is happening with the money he promised?

That single phone call ignited a fire. My husband was furious. Not because he had failed to pay, but because I had dared to ask where the money was. He accused me of disrespect, of involving outsiders, of embarrassing him. I reminded him that the man wasn’t an outsider. He was a witness to his promise. November was ending. I had heard nothing. What exactly was I supposed to do, clap?

That night, something shifted in me. I said to myself, “This guy is playing games with me.”

I heard the conversations he was having with his friends. I listened quietly when they told me what he had said. My heart was pounding. Every word they told me he had said sliced deeper than the last. That was when I knew he had no intention of paying anything. He was buying time. He was intentionally delaying, waiting for immigration approval to land quietly in his hands, knowing that once he had the approval, I would be powerless. And worse, he would be the one to receive the approval from immigration without my knowledge.

That realization made me mad. As if that wasn’t enough, I discovered the depth of the betrayal. His girlfriend in Vancouver, Jacqueline, the same woman I had confronted earlier, was not just a side story. She was the plan. A carefully constructed escape route. Jacqueline was new in Canada. She, too, was looking for documents. The plan was simple and evil in its clarity: Once his own stay was secured, he would disappear to Vancouver, marry her, and abandon me and the children.

That knowledge didn’t just hurt. It hollowed me out. Each time I asked him about the money for the documents, his responses grew colder, vaguer, less encouraging. I knew then that waiting any longer was dangerous. So I did what I had been avoiding. I called the lawyer handling the immigration process. I told him, “Kindly send a letter to immigration to withdraw the application.”

After telling him this, he started avoiding me. I would call him and he wouldn’t pick up my calls. I would send him messages and he would ignore them. Delays stacked on delays. I could sense it. He was hoping I would cool down and stop calling him, but I never stopped. One day, I finally got the lawyer on the phone. I was shaking with anger. I told him plainly that if he delayed sending my withdrawal letter to immigration and approval came through, I would sue him.

He heard the anger in my voice and decided to do what he should have done from the start. Still, I didn’t trust him. So I called immigration myself, and this is where grace stepped in. Immigration confirmed they had received the withdrawal request I had sent through the lawyer. Because of the Christmas holidays, the process had taken longer, but then, last Tuesday, I received the confirmation that changed everything. The application was canceled. He was given 30 days to remain in Canada.

I cried, not from sadness, but from relief. For the first time in a long while, my heart was quiet. I was at peace. I hadn’t seen him for days because he was living in another city, but when he heard the news, he came home to ask questions. “Why are you doing this to me? Even if you don’t care about me, what about the children?”

He tried to use the children as a weapon. He believed that weapon would soften me, that I would never dare go this far because of them. But enough was enough. Protecting my children did not mean sacrificing my sanity or enabling betrayal.

Now his family calls to beg me to change my mind. They plead and appeal to my mercy, but a decision made in clarity does not shake easily. There is nothing left to discuss. I wish him good luck when he finally goes to Ghana.

Ironically, I am the happiest I have been in years. He, on the other hand, cannot sleep. He calls. He questions. He asks why I did this to him. He accuses me of not thinking about the children. Finally he said, “I hope this will not end the marriage. Even if I end up in Ghana, I want this marriage to continue so I can make things right.”

Thriving In A Relationship When The Man Doesn’t Have Money

His audacity still amazes me. No, I have simply chosen myself. When I shared my story months ago, I did not know half of what I know now. Details surfaced slowly and painfully. Things were happening behind my back while I was still trying to fix a marriage that had already been sold to another woman. But today, I stand firm. The law has spoken. My conscience is clear. My heart is finally at rest.

—Anokyewaa

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