My Scam Story #33

A Romance Scam Victim/Survivor’s Story

Survivor’s Origin: AUSTRALIA

This is the original victim’s story, enhanced by the SCARS Institute Editorial Team to improve comprehension, readability, and continuity.

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My Scam Story

I was involved in a romance scam, but I wasn’t just being scammed by one person. It was either four different individuals—or possibly one person pretending to be all of them. I’ll never know for sure. But what I do know is that this experience changed my life in ways I never expected.

It all began in April of last year. I received a friend request from someone claiming to be in the U.K. Navy. Normally, I don’t accept requests from people I don’t know. But at the time, I was feeling especially lonely and depressed. I hadn’t been in a relationship for 13 years, and I thought, “He’s so far away—he can’t hurt me.”

How wrong I was.

We started chatting daily—sometimes at odd hours, since he said he was working in Syria, Afghanistan, and Nigeria. He told me he had lost his wife and son in a tragic accident and that he had a grandson living in Michigan with a carer. I asked him if he had a phone, and he said he was using his friend’s computer. Then he asked if I could send him one.

I happened to have a new phone I wasn’t using. He asked if he could have it. In May, he told me his grandson was sick and needed medical help. He asked me for money to help cover the hospital bills. Then it was his grandson’s birthday, and they wanted money to throw him a party.

I sent the phone to an address in Michigan, along with an iPad as a birthday gift. After that, he began asking for iTunes cards “for his computer.” He never received the phone, supposedly because the shipping cost was too high. It ended up staying with his grandson.

In June, he asked me to send another phone—this time to his “agent” in Nigeria. I bought a Samsung A8 on finance and sent it. I’m still paying that phone off. Then he said his grandson had broken his arm and needed more medical treatment. I sent $2,300 AUD for hospital expenses.

In July, he told me he was finally going to come visit me in Australia. But then he said he didn’t have enough money for airfare. I sent him the money. Then he asked for more—to buy some nice clothes. I sent that too. He told me he had booked his flight and was planning to visit in August.

But then another crisis.

He got sick. He said he was in the hospital and needed money for an operation, then for medication, and then for airfare to get back to Syria from Nigeria. Once again, I sent him the money. He always said he’d pay me back. He made promise after promise. He told me he was about to retire.

In August, he said he was on his way to see me. But when he arrived in Singapore, he said he wasn’t allowed to board his connecting flight to Australia. He claimed he was going to be deported back to Syria. I was heartbroken. I had been ready to meet this person, to start a new life—and it didn’t happen.

He said he was just as upset as I was. I told him to go back to the travel agent and demand a refund, but he claimed the agency had closed down and stolen the money.

Then his phone broke.

He said without a new one, we wouldn’t be able to talk anymore. He said he would miss me terribly. And honestly, I felt the same. So I bought him another phone—an iPhone this time—and sent it to him. I’m now paying off two phones I don’t have, but a scammer does.

In October, he asked for money to “process his retirement” and obtain certificates he needed. He said that without them, he wouldn’t be able to officially retire. I sent the money.

By then, we had exchanged countless messages of love. We had talked about life together, building a future. Then came more requests: the carer couldn’t afford to send his grandson to school—could I help pay the school fees? I did. Then his friend asked for money. Then the carer. Even the grandson.

In November, he said he was finally getting paid from his work. But he didn’t have a bank account to receive the money. He asked to use mine. I gave him my bank details. He deposited $70,000 into my account. I asked if he could now repay what he owed me. He said yes—with his next payment.

He then asked me to transfer money to his friends—people he said he owed money to. He provided their bank account details, and I sent the money. Not long after that, my bank contacted me.

They told me I was involved in money laundering and fraud. I had to go into the branch immediately. They told me to cease all communication with the people I’d been talking to.

I was terrified. I sent the scammers a message, telling them what had happened. All they said was, “Keep calm—it will be okay.” They still denied being scammers.

I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. I deleted everything—every message, every photo, every bit of information I had. I was so scared, I didn’t think about how important that evidence was. I thought, “How stupid could I be?” I had erased the very things that could have helped me.

I went to the bank. I was a mess—emotional, afraid, overwhelmed. I couldn’t talk to my family about any of it. I kept it all to myself. I felt completely alone.

I cut off all communication.

Then I got a message saying the man I loved had a heart attack and couldn’t talk to me anymore. I sank into a dark place. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to face the consequences. I didn’t want to face the shame. I felt completely alone.

In January, I received an email from a hospital in Nigeria. I didn’t reply. Then I got a phone call at 2 a.m. I didn’t answer. When I checked the number the next morning, I saw it was a WhatsApp call. I messaged, “Who is this?” They said they were calling from the hospital.

I played along for a bit—but eventually I told them it was all lies.

I have since reported everything—to ACC, ACORN, and the police. I’m in a better place now. I got medical help to deal with the emotional fallout. But I still think about it. I still struggle with what I’ve done—and with how much money I lost. Financially, it’s been hard ever since.

I was living on hope. I thought he would pay me back. I believed in a future that never existed.

There’s more to this story. It would take a long time to write it all. But I wanted to share this part.

If you’re reading this, and you’ve been through something similar, you are not alone. I’m still healing. But I’m still here.

And that counts for something.

SCARS Institute Notes:

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