The day I left Ghana for Italy, my wife stood at the airport with me, crying the way people cry when their beloved is dead. I told her, “I’m only traveling. Why are you making it look like I’m going to die?”

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

I could understand her pain and I also could understand the loss when distance comes between people in love. We had been married for eight years then. Life was not terrible, but it was tight. I had a job that barely kept a family of four afloat. It was hard to pay rent, the children’s school fees were increasing every year, and sometimes I could sleep and wonder if the future would turn out right for me and the family. I couldn’t even dream of owning a house someday because I had nothing that looked like I could build a house someday.

When the opportunity came for me to travel to Italy for work, we both agreed it was the right decision. “It’s only for a few years,” I told her that night before my flight. “Before you know it, I will be back and when I’m back, know that we are leaving together.”

She nodded and said something that stayed with me through the long flight. “Don’t go and forget about us. Help let’s build something you can come home to.”

From my first job abroad, I began sending money home. Every month without fail. Sometimes twice in a month when overtime gave me extra income. We decided to build a house, something I could come home to. My wife handled everything on the ground—buying cement, paying workers, supervising the building process. She sent photos often.

The first pictures showed the land being cleared. Then the foundation trenches. Then bags of cement stacked neatly beside piles of sand. Each image made the distance and struggle feel worthwhile. When the children called, they spoke about the house like it was already a finished palace.

Those small moments kept me going through the loneliness of working in a country where everything felt unfamiliar. Five years passed faster than I expected. My wife had sent photos of a completed house that only needed some furnishing and we could move into it as a family. I felt it was time to go home and see to it that the building was completed and be there when my family finally moved into the house.

I told no one the exact date I was coming home. I wanted to surprise them. After five years abroad, I imagined the moment my family would see me in front of them unexpectedly and the excitement that would come from seeing me. I imagined standing in front of the house we had built together and seeing the life my sacrifices had created. I daydreamed about those moments so on the plane going back home, my heart beat with excitement.

I got home in the evening and didn’t get the excitement I expected from my wife. Instead, she looked at me like she was seeing a ghost. “It’s me,” I said. “Are you not happy to see me?”

She smiled and said, “Why would you do this to us? I’m too shocked I can’t even scream.” The kids looked at me like they were seeing a stranger. They were young when I left so I could understand their feelings.

One week later, my wife still hadn’t been able to take me to the building site. One excuse after another. So one weekend, I told her nothing would stop us from going there. She said, “The truth is, the building is not done.” I responded, “I know it’s not done. I brought money to finish it up before I go back.”

When we got to the site and she pointed at the building, my heart started beating faster. For a moment I thought she was making a mistake. I asked where and she kept pointing at the same location. The house I had been sending money for all those years was still at the foundation level. The same concrete outline I had seen in the photos years earlier sat there like an abandoned idea. No walls. No roof. Just weeds growing around blocks that looked older than they should have been.

I walked slowly around the site, staring at the empty structure. I’m a man of restraint. I would have done something outrageous to her that afternoon. She suspected it too, so she stood far away from me.

Five years of money transfers, overtime shifts, and sleepless nights in a foreign country and the house had not moved beyond the beginning. Her explanation came slowly, wrapped in half sentences and unfinished excuses. Construction had stopped. Money had been used for emergencies. Things had become difficult. She stuttered for several seconds before a word could come out. I kept screaming, “What happened to all the money I sent?” She kept repeating her answers, followed by apologies.

It’s Not God’s Law For A Man To Apologize To A Woman

It was later that I got to realize another secret. She had changed the school of the kids. The good school I had been paying fees for all these years had not seen my children for a very long time. I planned to stay for two months but just two weeks later, I jumped into another flight and left the country. She knew the marriage was over but I had to make it official. I sent my elder brother and my dad to her house to end the marriage. My kids live with my elder brother; I’m preparing them to come and live here with me.

It was hard but I’ve started life all over again and this time, with no woman in sight. I don’t think I will do life again with a woman. Never. At least, I’ve been married before so no one can accuse me of being scared of commitment.

—Tony

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.

******