My wig went missing. It was new and still in its original package. I had placed it among my wigs in my wardrobe, and to be honest, I didn’t check on it for over a month because I didn’t have an occasion to wear it. Only for me to check one day and find it gone.

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Two people came to mind immediately—my junior sister and Serwaa, who had been my friend for years. I called my sister and screamed into the phone, “The kind of demon that entered you to take my wig without telling me should have pushed you to return it before I found out. I swear, if I see you, you will smell pepper. Why did you take my wig? What for? Do you know how much I bought it?”

I know my sister too well—I can tell when she’s guilty. The way she responded told me she didn’t take it. “Would I take something of yours without asking you first?” she asked. I demanded, “So who took my wig?”

I turned my attention to Serwaa. It was difficult asking her because I knew deep down she wouldn’t do it, but I had to ask anyway. She denied knowing anything about it. I went crazy. I turned my anger on my boyfriend. He told me, “It’s just a wig. It’s not like you lost a baby.”

Days later, it was my dress that I couldn’t find. That was also new. And then my shoes—about four pairs went missing. Out of fear, I changed my lock and monitored everyone who came to my space. When a friend spent the night with me, I slept with one eye open because I didn’t trust anyone.

My boyfriend came to visit and gave me his phone to charge. I remembered he used my name as his password when our relationship was new. I tried it to see if he still had my name as his password—he had changed it. That was the red flag.

It made me suspicious of his movements, so I started watching his hands whenever he typed his password. I wanted to know the new girl whose name he had used to impress her.

I figured it out. It wasn’t a name but a combination of numbers. While he slept, I went through his phone. He was arguing with a lady named Fausty. I checked her profile—she was wearing a dress that looked familiar, but since dresses aren’t made for just one person, I ignored that and read their messages.

The girl had written: “You’re a shameless man. A man who takes back the things he bought for his girlfriend when they fight? You’re shameless.” My boyfriend responded: “Should I leave them so you can wear them for your new boyfriend? Let him buy you some. Shameless woman.”

Obviously, they were both shameless. The argument went on until my boyfriend said: *“You better not wear that wig again. I’ll take it off your head if I see you wearing it. Buy your own wig if you can cheat.”

I said nothing to him. Instead, when he left, I went to his place with him. I searched his room thoroughly until I found a poly bag under his bed—inside were my dress and two pairs of my missing shoes. I spread them on his bed. When he came in, I asked, “When am I getting my wig and the rest of my shoes back?”

He laughed. “I was only hiding them to teach you a lesson.”
“What lesson?” I asked.
“Did you die when you didn’t have these? Why do you waste money on things you don’t need?”
“You were hiding them in Fausty’s wardrobe, right?” He went mute.

You Broke Me Into Pieces: A Daughter’s Emotional Conversation With Her Father

I left his place and also muted the love I had for him. He left Fausty because she cheated. The irony? Meanwhile, he didn’t just cheat—he stole my things and gave them to his girlfriend because he couldn’t afford to spend his own money to impress his mistress.

It was over that very day.

—Emmanuella

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