I was in my second year when she came in as a first-year student. She was in my department, so I noticed her during their orientation. I wouldn’t say she was the most beautiful girl around, but she carried herself with grace and innocence. That’s what drew me to her. I took her number, and we started talking. This was in 2009. Chatting wasn’t as easy as it is now—you had to press the keypad four times just to get an “s”—but we spent all night texting.......CONTINUE READING THE ARTICLE FROM THE SOURCE>>>>>
She said yes, and a relationship began. She had three pairs of dresses she put on rotation. I had to take her to Kotokoraba market to shop for her. She came from a poor background. She didn’t have to tell you. You only have to look at her shoes and dress and the embarrassing combination.
She didn’t shy away from her background. She talked about it openly, including how she had struggled to get into school. I made her part of my budget. Because of her, I was constantly calling home for money. I paid her hostel fees until I left campus. I paid her school fees until I left campus. I bought her books and gave her money for food.
She said her mom wanted to meet me, so one weekend, we took a bus to Koforidua to visit her family. I wasn’t happy with what I saw, so on our next visit, I bought a blender, cooking utensils, cutlery, and other essentials for the family. I noticed what they lacked and provided it for them. Later, I added a tabletop fridge and a microwave. Keep in mind, I wasn’t working at the time—I was essentially taking money from my parents.
When I started my national service in Saltpond, I wanted her to visit me on weekends, but she began giving me excuses. I noticed a significant change in her appearance. She started wearing large earrings and doing her makeup. I felt something was off.
One day, I went to campus and brought her back to spend the weekend with me. While she was asleep, I went through her text messages. I discovered that a lecturer was pursuing her relentlessly. I texted the lecturer, pretending to be her. He responded, “I can come for you if you want. I can’t sleep.” I texted him to come, and he drove to campus at 12:17 a.m.
When he called, I woke her up and handed her the phone. She didn’t want to talk, but I insisted. She said, “I’m sleeping. Can we talk tomorrow?” I could hear the man yelling and demanding answers. She couldn’t respond and eventually hung up.
I was shaking. “Mandy, why? What did I do to deserve this?”
She wanted to lie, but I showed her the evidence—line by line, her own messages. She buried her face in her hands and admitted that the man had lured her with money. He took her out every night until she fell for him. He had a car; I didn’t. I felt so small. I cried. It was my first and last heartbreak. She returned to campus and sent me a breakup message while I was still trying to figure out how to forgive her.
She wrote, “I know you’re planning to hurt me, which is why you’re offering forgiveness. I understand. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. It’s better we part ways than for you to hurt me.”
I called her mom. Her dad was so drunk when I called that he said, “You’re crying because my daughter left you? This girl who can’t even wash her own underwear? When did she become a human that she’s able to break your heart? Leave her. She’ll regret it and come back.”
I cried every day until one day I thought, “This pain is too much. Let me end it.” You’re reading this because I didn’t go through with it. I had a belt in my hand and was staring at the ceiling fan, but I told myself, “If I die today, that woman will win, and my death will mean nothing.”
I got down, cried until I had no tears left, and moved on. I was twenty-five years old and considered myself a man, but when that phase finally ended, I felt like a forty-year-old. I finished my national service, got a job, traveled, and returned. One day, I saw her on social media, and we started talking. Later, we met in person. I went to her house, and she said, “Thank you.” I asked, “For what?” She replied, “For everything. I’m where I am now because of your help. It’s too bad I hurt you.” You should see the car she drives and where she lives now. Her life is beautiful, and I was happy for her. While driving home, I asked myself, “Is this what I would have died for?”
We are friends now. I’m married, and she’s in a committed relationship. We’re not where we used to be, but life is better now.
