He Stole My Heart My Money And His Identity

I was nursing a broken heart when Eric entered my life. Initially, I didn’t pay him much attention, but he was persistent. He called me daily and sent messages morning and night until I finally asked him, “What do you really want from me?”

He replied, “I don’t want anything from you. Just call me back sometimes. Respond to my messages. Ask me how I am, just like I ask you every day. That’s how friendship starts. Don’t assume every guy who approaches you has bad intentions; some of us come with genuine hearts.”

“A genuine heart, huh?”

That’s how our connection began. He shared details about his job, saying, “I work for an insurance company, and they’ve transferred me from Accra to this area.” He opened up about his life, his background, and his aspirations. We continued to talk, and every evening after work, he would stop by my house to say hello. His cheerful and easy-going nature made him well-liked by everyone in my household, who always looked forward to his visits.

He didn’t come around on weekends, as he had a sick mother in Accra and needed to return home to care for her. On the days he was absent, my mom would ask, “Your husband didn’t come by today?” I would respond, “Mom, he’s just a friend, not my husband.” But I understood her intentions; it was her way of indicating she wouldn’t mind if I dated him.

Eric was always there for me. Sometimes, he would come to our shop in the evenings to help me pack up so we could walk home together. One day, he proposed, and I had anticipated it. I said yes. A week later, I shared the news with my mom, who said, “You two look great together. He could be a good husband if you take your time with him.”

One weekend, Eric went to Accra and didn’t return as usual. He called to say, “My mom’s condition is worsening. She needs me around, so I’ve taken leave from work.” Three days later, he called again, saying, “I’ve spent all my money on my mother, and there are still more medications to buy. I need your help.”

I sent him some money. He wanted it as a loan, but I said, “What are lovers for if they can’t support each other?” A few days later, Eric returned, expressing his gratitude. He promised to repay me, but I insisted he didn’t have to.

Not long after, he received a call from someone he claimed was his aunt. His mother’s condition had deteriorated again. That evening, he left for Accra. The next day, he called me, saying, “We took mom to the hospital, and she needs surgery, but I have no money. I need a loan. This time, I insist on a loan. If you won’t give it as a loan, I won’t take it.”

I didn’t have the amount he requested, so I involved my mother. She willingly went to the bank and withdrew the money for me. A week later, he returned with a message of thanks from his mother. He said, “My mom wants to meet her in-laws already. She’s very happy that you helped her.” I replied, “She should focus on getting better first; that’s what matters. I’ll go with you to see her one day.”

For many days, he didn’t mention his mother’s illness. We were happy, and everything felt normal. He began repaying the loan in small installments. The first payment was minimal, not even 1% of what he owed, but it was a start. We hoped that once things settled down, he would make larger payments.

About a month later, he approached me again, looking anxious and sweaty. I was concerned. This time, the money he requested wasn’t for his mother’s health; it was to settle a debt with someone else. He explained, “When my mom’s issues began, I borrowed money from a friend’s father. I’ve defaulted because I wanted to pay you first, but he’s involved the police, and they’re after me.”

We couldn’t go to my mom again. I dipped into my savings and gave him everything I had. The next day, he went to Accra to make the payment, and that was the last time I saw him.

His phone was off for several days.

I became anxious. I realized I didn’t know any of his family or friends. Fear set in. When my mom noticed his absence, she began asking about him, and I kept telling her, “He’s away because of his mother’s illness.” But my mother wasn’t naive; she could see through my facade.

One morning, she said, “You haven’t heard from him, have you? It’s clear something isn’t right.” That’s when I finally told her the truth. She said, “We’ve been foolish—the two of us. How could we trust so easily?”

We started searching for him. I went to the insurance company he claimed to work for, but they said, “We’ve never had an employee by that name.” I thought I might have misremembered the company, so I visited all the insurance firms in town, but none recognized him. My anxiety grew. I discussed it with a few friends, and they suggested reporting to the police. I hesitated, feeling it was too soon to take that step.

A week or two later, a friend called to say, “I’ve found him. His name isn’t even Eric.” I asked, “Where did you find him?” She replied, “He recently had a wedding, and someone posted photos on Facebook. The wife was tagged, so it’s easy to find out.”

I broke down in tears. “This guy told me he wasn’t on social media because he didn’t see the need. How could he deceive me so thoroughly?” I was devastated and lacked the strength to do anything. My friend sent me the link, and I scrolled through the photos. “Wow, this guy is truly a scoundrel.”

My friend began messaging his wife through direct messages. She managed to get her phone number, learn where she worked, and even where she lived. That’s when we decided to report him to the police. A few days later, he was arrested.

The case didn’t revolve around my relationship with him; I never mentioned it. It was too embarrassing to discuss, so I focused on the money he owed me. I wanted my money back and was determined to ensure he paid every cent. When we met at the police station, he couldn’t meet my gaze. His wife was in tears, confused and unaware of the truth. I felt sorry for her; she believed she was married to a man, not realizing who he truly was.

My mom told her, “Ask your husband what his real name is. What you know might not be his true identity.” The woman was bewildered, completely lost. We left him in police custody until the next morning when some family members came to bail him out. I saw his mother at the station several times, and she appeared stronger than my own mother, despite his claims of her being on the brink of death.

It became clear he couldn’t repay all he owed me, so we arranged for him to pay in four installments, and as I write this, he is still making payments.

—Bernice  
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