It sounded good from the beginning, and I think it was the way he said it. He said, “You were made for me, and I was made for you. You and I are made for each other.” I stood there, smitten, and didn’t know what to say. I only gave him a smile. He said, “Say something.” I replied, “You’ve said all the right things. Now, whatever I say would just be a repetition of what you’ve already said.”

Our love was new, and we couldn’t get enough of each other. Those were the days when we could stay on the phone forever, never knowing how to say goodbye or who should be the one to end the call. That’s the flowery part of every relationship. You wish it would remain that way forever, but one day you wake up, and all that’s left is, “Why didn’t you call me yesterday?” And the other partner responds, “Why didn’t you call me either?”

Usually, the newness lasts a little longer, but that wasn’t the case for us. We started fighting just two months into the relationship. He became overbearing. He wanted to know who I had spoken to during the day and what we had talked about. If a guy smiled at me, he would demand to know why the guy smiled and why he smiled at me. A simple greeting from a random guy was enough to get me into trouble with him.

And when he was angry, he would kick things around or pick up anything in his path and throw it. One evening, he was so angry that he was shaking. He had read my messages and saw a guy calling me “dear.” He asked, “Why did he call you ‘dear’? Are you his girlfriend?” I thought it was funny, so I laughed. This made him throw a tantrum, and he started imagining all sorts of things that the guy could have been doing with me behind his back.

I told him, “You’re overreacting!”

He started looking for things to hit or throw. When he didn’t find anything, I was the only thing in front of him that he could hit, so he hit me. Before I could say a word, he hit me again. I sat down, holding my cheek in my palm, and started crying. He went on and on, making assumptions based on a simple “dear.”

I didn’t say anything because I was scared. I was waiting for him to leave so I could send him a text to tell him it was over between us. He calmed down a little, got closer to me, and said, “You’re mine, and I have to do everything to protect you from other people.” Again, I didn’t say a word. I just kept sobbing.

He knelt in front of me and started apologizing. “You know how much I love you and how much I hate to see someone trying to get closer to you. I’m sorry for hitting you. It won’t happen again.” I said nothing. I was only waiting for him to leave so I could close my door and text him goodbye.

He left—eventually. I looked into the mirror and saw that my left eye was swollen. I cried and said to myself, “This is it.”

I sent him a text: “I don’t think I can continue doing this with you. This is where it ends, and I’m serious. Find yourself a girlfriend who enjoys being slapped or insulted whenever you’re angry.” My message was blue-ticked, but I didn’t get a response. An hour later, I heard a knock on my door. It was calm at first, but when I didn’t respond, the knocking became aggressive. I knew it was him.

I didn’t open the door.

He knocked and knocked until my neighbors came out to tell him to stop disturbing everyone. It turned into a scuffle with them. Soon, the men in the building came out of their rooms and drove him away. It was 12:36 a.m. I had never been so embarrassed in my life. The next morning, when I stepped out, everyone was looking at me and asking if I was okay.

I walked gingerly out of the house to work.

During my lunch break, the security guard informed me that I had a visitor. It was him. He had given the guard a fake name; otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone to see him. There he was, face to face with me. He saw my swollen eye and apologized again. He said, “I’m sorry for everything that happened last night. Lovers have bad times, and that was ours. It shouldn’t have made you send the kind of message you sent.”

I told him, “What I sent you wasn’t just because of what happened last night. You’re the wrong guy for me, and I can’t put up with the way you behave when you’re angry. It’s over, and I mean it. You can find yourself a new girlfriend because I’m done.” He stayed quiet, but I could see his fists shaking. If we had been anywhere else, he would have started throwing things around. He couldn’t do it at my office, though. He was trying to control himself, but it was clearly difficult for him.

He looked at me and said, “You think you can get rid of me easily because of that guy who called you ‘dear’? Think again! If I can’t have you, no one will.”

I got up and left him there.

Deep down, I was scared of what he might do to me, so I packed a few things from my room and went to live with a friend. Over the next couple of days, he kept calling my phone incessantly. I was traumatized. He came to my office twice, using a fake identity, but the security guards told him I wasn’t there. He sent me threats, followed by apologies and sweet messages. I never responded. Eventually, I changed my number, and the messages stopped.

One evening at my friend’s place, we heard a knock on the door. My friend went to see who it was. It was him.

He pushed my friend aside and entered the room. I was lying on the couch watching TV when he walked in. “You think I can’t find you? Do you think you can run away from me?” As soon as I got up from the couch, he grabbed my shoulder and said, “Please, I came to apologize for everything. Please listen to me.” My friend screamed at him, “Leave my room, or I’ll report you to the police!” She kept screaming at him and even pulled his shirt to force him out. That was when he swung his hand, and it landed on my friend’s lips.

My friend started screaming, and the neighbors came over. At first, I thought my friend was being dramatic just to get him out, but when I saw her lips, I realized how seriously she was hurt. There was blood all over her mouth. She kept murmuring, “My tooth, my tooth is falling out.”

He left the room and ran off. We took my friend to the hospital. Luckily, her tooth was fine, but her upper lip needed stitches.

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It was no longer just about me and him. My friend felt abused, so she reported the incident to the police. The next morning, he was arrested. I felt sad for him, but there was little I could do. He spent a few hours in custody before being bailed out that afternoon. I never thought he could be so remorseful. When he came out of the cells, you could see he had been crying. This was a guy who had once stood as tall as a mountain in my eyes, but that day, he looked an inch tall—completely stripped of dignity.

My friend was persuaded not to pursue the case further, but they ensured he paid for all the medical bills and warned him to stay far away from any of us.

A month or so later, he sent me a message: “Dear, I’m sorry for everything that ever happened between us. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m a changed person now. Just give me one more chance, and I’ll prove how much I’ve improved.”

I responded, “Do you want to go back to the cells again?”

—Rita, Ghana 

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