My wife bought a car without telling me. She came home with an unregistered RAV4, parked it in front of the house, and walked in as if it was a normal thing to come home with a new car and not talk about it.

I asked whose car it was, and she said, “It’s my car.”

“Are you serious? You bought a car, or it belongs to someone else?”

She chuckled and went inside. I went around the car, inspecting it to see if there would be something that said it belonged to someone else. It even had the port sticker on it.

We’ve been married for over six years with two children, five and three years old. I’m the one carrying every responsibility while she supports when she can. She brought home her dad’s old car one day and said she was tired of taking trotro and also walking to school with the kids. She wanted to use that car.

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She complained about fuel and at some point asked me to buy fuel for her to send the kids to school. I said, “To which school? School that takes five minutes to walk to?”

The fact is, my budget didn’t include fuel, and I told her about that. After a few weeks, my wife sent the car back to her dad’s garage and started trekking again.

Two years later, she was home with a new RAV4.

I asked where she got the money from.

“I know you don’t have money to afford that car, so how did you get that car?”

She said she worked hard to buy it. Her dad helped. Her sister in Canada shipped it, and she paid the port charges. Something didn’t add up, but I left it for time to tell.

I called her dad to ask about it. I wasn’t harsh or anything. I just asked if he was the one who bought the car. Not knowing my wife had told him all the questions I asked her and he was already angry before I called.

He asked me, “Your wife can’t own a car? Her mom owns a car. I do too, so definitely she would be motivated to get her own. What’s wrong with that?”

The conversation ended badly, but I learned one thing: her parents were in support of everything she was doing.

After buying the car, her financial situation got worse. The way she hung on to my change wasn’t normal. If I gave her money to buy anything, she wouldn’t bring my change. It could be five or ten cedis. If I asked, it would turn into a big fight.

After a few months, she parked the car. She would drive it on Monday, take trotro to work from Tuesday to Thursday, and drive to work on Friday.

And then my money started going missing. Sometimes, money would disappear from my wallet. Other times, if I left money on my side of the drawer, I would come back and realise it was short by GHC200 or GHC500, depending on how much I had left there.

At first, I couldn’t prove she was the one taking it. I only suspected her because nobody else had access to the room the way she did.

One day, I called her a thief, and she broke down crying. She called her dad to tell him. I heard her telling her sister in Canada that it was in marriage that she became a thief. Her dad had millions, but she didn’t steal from him, only to steal from someone who doesn’t count money up to GHC5,000.

Apart from the fact that she didn’t have anything and was struggling, she still didn’t respect me as a husband. If I said one, she would say a thousand. Our house lost its peace and balance. It looked like every fight we had had its root in the car.

She accused me of being jealous. She left the care of the kids to me, telling me I didn’t do anything domestically, so I should take it up.

I decided to prove whether she was really taking my money. I left GHC5,000 in my drawer and took photos of the serial numbers on every note. Every night before I slept, I counted the money, and every morning, I counted it again.

One morning, I counted it and realised GHC500 was missing.

I told her, “You’ve stolen my money. Where is it?”

She started getting loud and denied taking it. I went to her purse and found GHC500 there.

She said, “Are you the only one who uses money in this country? Do you know where I got this money from? I can show you my account. I withdrew from the ATM only last evening on my way home.”

That was when I brought out the photos I had taken and compared the serial numbers. The notes in her purse had the exact same serial numbers as the money that had gone missing from my drawer.

I showed her the photos.

“You’re telling me you own duplicates of my money? Is that what you’re saying? The ATM gave you the exact serial numbers as the money in my drawer? Or my drawer is the ATM?”

She was even too proud to say sorry. I told her I couldn’t live with a thief, so she should leave my house. She packed a few things into her car, which she hadn’t driven for over two weeks, and drove away with the kids.

I didn’t fight for the kids because I didn’t want them to see us fight.

She went to tell her parents I had been starving her and didn’t even give her housekeeping money since she bought the car. I’ve told her she had money to buy a car, so she should take care of herself and the kids.

It was her mom who called. I wondered why her dad didn’t call. I narrated the thievery, the disrespect, and the sharp tongue since she got the car. I told her mom I was tired of the marriage.

She said sorry.

I said, “You’re saying sorry, but is she sorry?”

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

Three weeks later, she was here with her mom, dad, and the kids to apologise. I was looking at her car. She had a “For Sale” tag on it.

She didn’t lie about her sister’s and dad’s contributions, but she couldn’t afford the rest from her own account, so she took a loan from two different institutions. Her monthly salary is almost nil, hence the stealing.

I told them they should give me time to also think about it, whether to bring her back or not. We have children. I love those guys to death, and I want the best for them.

I know living with their mom is one of the best things I could ever want for them, but it won’t come on a silver platter. She will have to earn her way back home once that stupid car is sold.

—Bra K.

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