I wasn’t sad when my dad died. Last week, when I got the call that he had passed away, I picked up my football boots and went to the park to play with my friends. It’s been a week, and I still haven’t told anyone that my dad is gone.

My siblings are posting tributes and writing eulogies about him, but I have nothing to say. The way he treated the woman I wanted to marry left me with no words. When he said, “Over my dead body will you marry that girl,” I didn’t know he had only five years left to live. If I had known, I might have waited.

I brought Jennifer home to meet my dad, and all he did was spit on our relationship and disrespect her. I had been with Jennifer for five years. We met while I was in school. She was serving drinks at an event, and I noticed her immediately.

I took her number after the event, and we became lovers. She ran a business, and I rolled up my sleeves to help her. She made all kinds of pastries and sold them. She also served at events and had orders every weekend because of how good she was. Beyond that, she owned two salons and three barbershops. I was her partner in life and business.

Jennifer was kind—too kind. Apart from putting me on a monthly salary for helping her, she also gave me anything I asked for. I was still in school, but I managed to send money home and even helped with my family’s medical bills, thanks to her. When I mentioned Jennifer to my family, they were happy to talk to her.

I brought her home once. They treated her well, and we spent a few hours together before leaving. But three years later, when I was ready to marry her, my dad said no.

Right in front of her, he started ranting: “What’s your educational background? What qualities do you have to marry my son, a university graduate?” He talked about her tribe, calling the women from there wicked and labelling them harlots who mistreat their husbands if money is tight. He cited stories—lies, really—about people who had suffered because of women from her tribe. He didn’t hold back. Jennifer broke down and cried. I cried too.

When we left, she told me she couldn’t be part of a family where the hatred in my dad’s eyes was so evident. My mom called to apologize, but Jennifer had a point. If a woman took me home and her dad treated me the way mine treated her, I would have walked away too.

Our relationship couldn’t survive my dad’s venom. I tried. She gave me the benefit of the doubt, but when she explained everything to her parents, they advised her to back out. I couldn’t blame her. My dad had said too much and acted like a man possessed.

We remained friends for a while, but eventually, we drifted apart. Two years later, she got married. I hadn’t moved on. I was still clinging to the corners of her heart, hoping for a chance to rekindle what we had. But the man she married didn’t give her space to look back, and I lost her forever.

I never forgave my dad. He claimed he did it for my good, but nothing good ever came from his actions. Since that day, I’ve met women I couldn’t date long-term and faced heartbreaks I didn’t deserve. My dad destroyed my love life and then died, leaving me to piece together what he had shattered.

How a Long-Distance Relationship Unveiled His Double Life

I’m not celebrating his death. I’m still mourning the death of the love we could have had, the life we could have built—both of which he destroyed. On the day they lay him in state, I will have only a few words for him: “Look at what you did to me. Are you happy now?”

Until I see some sense in what he did or witness something good come from his actions, I will never forgive him for pushing Jennifer out of my life.

— Ankrah

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