01/05/2025
It was him who first brought up marriage after we’d been together for two years. I thought it was a good sign—after all that time, I knew him well, and I had no reason to say no. But then came the hesitation. Not exactly a problem, more like… a hiccup.
Every year, he’d say, "Next year, we’ll get married. I’ll have more money by then, and we can do it properly." He wasn’t joking—his tone was serious, his eyes sincere. Yet, year after year, he postponed it. Three times, he pushed the date. I knew something was off.
Finally, I confronted him: "Why do you keep changing your mind? What’s really stopping us?" He sighed. "Next year is the one. I just need to pay off a loan from work first, then I’ll focus on the wedding."
Money. That was the problem.
I had worked at a reputable bank for five years, saved enough, and was financially ok. I loved him—why not help him so we could finally marry? "If money wasn’t the problem, would we be married by now?" I asked.
"Oh yeah!" he laughed. "We’d probably have two kids by now!"
So I offered to support him. "Bring what you can, and I’ll cover the rest." He agreed, relieved and happy.
We started planning. But then, my best friend—my would-be maid of honour—found out I was footing most of the expenses. "If a man says he’s ready to marry, his money should be ready too," she warned. "You shouldn’t be paying for your own wedding. Let him prove himself."
I brushed it off. "I’m just helping. That’s what partners do."
But soon, his contributions dwindled. Excuse after excuse. Still, I trusted him—I’d known him for years.
A year later, we had everything ready—except the ring, which he promised to buy last. Three days before the wedding, still no ring. He came to me, looking desperate. "Can you lend me the money? I’ll pay you back next month."
Reluctantly, I agreed. What was a wedding without rings? I gave him the cash, stressing that he had to repay me on time. He nodded, left. He called later to tell me he’d bought the ring and even sent me photos.
But on our wedding day, when I saw the rings for the first time, my heart sank. They were cheap, fake—nothing like the pictures. My hands trembled. "What did he do with the money?"
I bit back my anger, but when it was my turn to say my vows, tears streamed down my face. Everyone probably thought they were happy tears. They didn’t know I was crushed.
After the vows and everything, we took our seats. That was when I got the opportunity to ask what he did with the money. He answered, “This is not the right place to talk about it.” I kept quiet and sat through the rest of the ceremony. I didn’t attend the wedding reception. Yes…I didn’t.
I didn’t know how to put on the everything-is-alright face when indeed something was burning me on the inside. My parents came to beg, his parent came with the pastor to convince me to show up, but I didn’t. While they were there, I drove off to the hotel room. They cooked up a story about a stomach upset to allow the reception to go on.
Later, he arrived with my family, carrying gifts from the guests. Everyone was furious at my absence. When they left, I demanded the truth. He claimed the money was "stolen."
I called him a liar.
He said, “You can’t talk to me anyhow just because of a few cedis that I misplaced. I told you I wasn’t ready, but you insisted you would pay for the wedding, so why are you behaving like a kid? Did I force you to use your money?”
The ugly ring was hurting me, but his words hurt the more. We were both angry and exchanged a lot of hurtful words.
That night, while unpacking gifts, I spotted an envelope labelled "From Taylor and Family." My boss’s name. I didn’t check it then—I wasn’t in the mood.
The next morning, when we were going through the things, I realised that envelope was gone. I asked him and he said he didn’t see any envelope bearing that name. I was confused because I saw it.
I was so sure I saw it, so on Monday, I called my boss and thanked him for his presence and apologised for not being there at the reception. He said, “ Don’t worry about that. Your health is important. Again, I know I should have given more, but you don’t worry, cash what is on the cheque. When you resume, I will find a way to sort things out.”
“A cheque? Mr. Taylor, I didn’t find any cheque that has your name on it,” I said. He said, “Then someone on your gift table might have stolen it. Don’t worry, the bank will have to call me and verify before payment is done."
Days later, the bank called my boss—a man was trying to cash the cheque. They arrested him. My boss called to tell me.
My phone blew up with calls—from my husband, my parents. I ignored them all.
When my boss realised it was my husband, he called me, but I told him, “Please let that man rot in jail. I wish he would never come out. He’s a liar, a cheat, a manipulator and everything that’s evil, but I was too blind to see. Please let him rot there.” He asked where I was and he came over for me to go to the police station.
I lunged at him. "You said you never saw the envelope. So why are you here?"
He didn’t say a word.
My marriage lasted five days. Five years of love, trust, and effort—destroyed by deceit.
When he was released, he never came home. No calls. Days later, he showed up to collect his things—no remorse, no attempt to fix things. Not that I would’ve taken him back, but I at least deserved an apology.
The last time I saw him was in court, when we were finalising the divorce.
