She Chose Wealth Over True Love And Lost Everything

Hello Linda,

Since the day you left my life, things have been incredibly difficult. You took my happiness with you, leaving behind a trail of pain and regret. I often find myself questioning, “What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently?” I searched deep within myself but couldn’t find anything to point to, nothing I could say, “I should have said that” or “I should have done this.” I won’t claim I did everything for you, but I did everything a loving boyfriend could.

You were just nineteen when I met you at the church where we both grew up. As the pastor’s daughter, you were a beacon of light in my life. When I realized I loved you, I knew winning your heart wouldn’t be easy, but I was determined. I approached you as a friend, and you welcomed me into your life with open arms. A year later, on your 20th birthday, I proposed, and you said yes. It was the happiest day of my life, and I knew I had found the woman I wanted to spend forever with. You came with your own set of rules for our relationship, but I didn’t mind. You were everything I wanted, and I was ready to follow your lead until we reached the altar.

You said, “No sex until marriage.” I replied, “That’s fine. I can manage without it.” You said, “I’ll only kiss you once a year, on my birthday, to commemorate the day I accepted your proposal.” I responded, “That’s okay. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy too.” You warned, “If I catch you cheating, that’s the end. No begging will change my mind.” I assured you, “If I have you, who else would I want?”

I was always willing to abide by your rules because my love for you was so strong. I didn’t feel the need to impose rules on you; love transcends such boundaries.

On your 21st birthday, we shared our first kiss in my car while I drove you home from work. It lasted less than a minute, but the joy it brought me lingered for days. On your 22nd birthday, we kissed again in my room. You said it felt risky, but I promised, “Trust me, I won’t take more than I’m given.” After that kiss, I couldn’t take my eyes off you; you seemed transformed, glowing as if you had encountered something profound. I longed for more, but you pushed me away, saying, “That’s all you can have.” On your 23rd birthday, you introduced me to your dad as your boyfriend. He smiled knowingly, and we walked away together. On your 24th birthday, we celebrated with a grand party at the hotel where your parents blessed us with their prayers.

We hoped to marry after your 26th birthday, but on your 25th, things began to shift. You changed without explanation. I would come to your office after work to take you home, but you often told me, “I have to work overtime for my boss.” I didn’t mind, but I wondered why you didn’t inform me until I arrived. Love kept me from getting angry, even when it was frustrating. I always picked you up after work, all for love.

You traveled to Dubai on your 25th birthday without telling me. I missed your presence and our kiss, but it didn’t hurt until your father mentioned your trip. I had so many questions—“What took you to Dubai?” “Who paid for it?” “Why didn’t I know?”—but I kept silent. On your 26th birthday, you received a car as a gift, but you didn’t tell me who sent it or why. I missed my annual kiss again.

There were so many things happening in your life that I was unaware of. You kept me in the dark and played by different rules. You were no longer the nineteen-year-old I had fallen for, and I trusted you to make wise decisions.

One evening, I asked, “Why don’t you talk about our marriage plans anymore? Have you changed your mind about us?” That’s when you decided to reveal the truth. You said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we should get married. We’re not who we used to be.” Your words struck me like lightning. “Since when did you decide we’re not getting married? When did you decide we’ve changed?”

That day, you treated me like I was contagious, stepping back whenever I tried to get closer. I noticed the signs but thought I was misinterpreting them. I felt the shift but assumed I was being overly sensitive until you confirmed it. I ran to your father for help, but he tried and failed. I called you multiple times, apologizing for things I hadn’t done, but you still said no. You walked away just like that. I hadn’t cheated, yet you left. What happened to the rules you set for us?

I couldn’t just sit back and let you walk away without understanding why. So, I began to investigate.

When things soured, you returned the laptop I had given you but forgot to log out of your emails and Facebook. That’s where I started digging. I read the conversations between you and Alice. It turned out your boss funded your trip to Dubai and was the one who gifted you the car on your birthday. While I waited a whole year for a kiss, your boss had access to you whenever he wanted. I can’t even imagine what happened when you met him in Dubai. I went through your emails and couldn’t hold back my tears. The notion that “men don’t cry” is a lie.

But how could you do this?

Why would you give yourself to your boss, who is married to a woman you call a friend? Didn’t it bother you that you were a pastor’s daughter, raised to uphold family values? Or do material things overshadow principles and faith in your world? I was heartbroken when your older sister reached out to me, saying, “We’ve talked to her about her relationship with that man, but she doesn’t seem to care.” How did you go from a girl who kissed once a year to one who sleeps with her friend’s husband?

It’s been over a year, and you’re still with your boss. I learned he moved you to head a different department. Congratulations. I heard his wife confronted you multiple times, but you didn’t care. I also heard you travel in and out of Ghana at will. I’m happy for you, but I won’t forget the pain you caused me, nor will I forget the sacrifices I made for you. Remember, when you throw a ball against a wall, it bounces back. The harder you throw, the harder it comes back to you. Keep rowing your boat gently down the stream. I hope you never fall off a cliff.

—Opoku

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