I Saved Him From Court Issues But Our Love Story Became a Crime Scene

When you wear a police uniform in Ghana, people think the badge makes your skin tougher, your heart colder, and your emotions fireproof. They imagine that the same way you keep a straight face when dealing with stubborn drivers at the barrier, you must also keep a straight heart when dealing with matters of love. But I now know that heartbreak does not respect rank, uniform, or the number of years you have spent in service.

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That morning had been bright, the sun too loud for my liking, the wind carrying dust that had settled on everything, even people’s moods. I was inside the station when I heard a man insisting, pleading, “Abain, please. I beg you. I didn’t do it intentionally.”

I stepped out to see him, a man in neat office wear, sweating as if the sun had singled him out for roasting. Later, I would learn his name was Ben. I asked him what the matter was, and the officers explained that he had committed a traffic offense but refused to accept responsibility earlier. I turned to look at him again. Something in his eyes, the fear, the humility, and the confusion, softened me. So I asked him one simple question: “Did you tell them you were sorry?”

“I’ve said everything,” he replied, looking drained. “But they still brought me here.” I took his number and asked him to go home. I told him I would call. And I did. We spoke several times that day. I assured him I would try to help him get his keys and save him from court embarrassment. Early the next morning, I asked him to meet me outside the station. When he arrived, I placed his keys in his palm and told him he was free to go.

The excitement on his face. Ei, I felt it inside my own chest. He asked, “What did I do to deserve this kindness?” I told him, “You look like a good man.” Later that day, he called again to thank me. The call lasted 40 minutes. Then later, another call. The next day, another. Before I realized it, my fingers were always ready to pick up his calls even before the phone finished ringing.

Food started tasting sweeter. Work became lighter. And suddenly, love, the kind I had prayed for, seemed to be finding me. He proposed and I said yes. We became inseparable. The whole community even nicknamed him “Papa Police.”

He came to the station with food for me. He supported me when my younger brother fell sick. He came to my house with groceries sometimes, saying, “A woman who works as hard as you shouldn’t stress too much.” Though he earned more than I did, I still supported him financially because that is what love is: two people helping each other.

One year passed. My heart was at peace. I felt I had finally met the man who saw me beyond the uniform. One evening, I remember the evening very clearly, we were sitting outside his place when I asked casually, “Do you have plans of marrying soon?” His answer was, “I’m waiting for what God will say.” I laughed lightly, but something inside me knotted. I brushed it aside.

Then two weeks later he told me, “My younger sister is facing marital problems. She’s coming to stay with me for a while to escape from her abusive husband. Because of that, you’ll have to stop visiting for some time.”

It did not sit well with me. But because I loved him, I agreed. One week passed. No problem. Second week, fine. By the fourth week, he was practically ignoring my calls, sending short text answers like “I’m busy,” “She needs help,” “I can’t talk now.” Something in me began to rise, a discomfort I could not swallow, so I reached out to some mutual friends, casually asking what they knew. One of them, after hesitating for a long time, finally said: “She is not his sister. That’s his ex. And the child she came with is Ben’s.”

“Really?”
“Yes, that’s the truth, but please don’t quote me.”

My whole body went cold. This wasn’t heartbreak. It was an earthquake. I rushed to his place without thinking. When he saw me, he begged, “Barbara, please don’t make a scene. Let’s talk outside.” While outside, he confessed. “Yes, she’s my ex. The child is mine. We broke up. But our families say we should marry. That’s why she’s here.”

I felt the world tilt. My tongue went dry. All I could say was, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He looked down. “I didn’t want to lose you. Plus, I thought we were over long ago until family entered the frame.” I laughed that painful kind of laughter.

I walked away from him that day with my heart burning. Back home, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think straight. I stayed indoors for days. My colleagues kept asking what was wrong. When they found out, some got angry and said, “Should we go and teach him a lesson? Just say the word.” I shook my head. “Leave him to God. He will answer for this hurt.”

I meant it. He made me believe I was safe with him. He made me bend, open up, trust, love without fear, only to leave me wounded and humiliated. He took advantage of my kindness the same way a thief takes advantage of an unlocked door. But here is what I know now:

Some disappointments are lessons.
Some heartbreaks are redirections.
And some losses are actually God’s protection.

Is There A Perfect One Out There For Everyone?

Maybe Ben did not break me. He freed me from a future that would have destroyed me. Just imagine if we had gotten married and this happened. So I count it all joy, though it hurts. Now I’m healing slowly. I’ve returned to work. I laugh sometimes. I know I will rise again, because women like me, women with good hearts, always rise. And when I do, I’ll look back at this story not with bitterness, but with gratitude, knowing that God saved me from a lifetime of sitting in the shadows of a man who never deserved me.

—Barbara

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