My Scam Story #45

A Romance Scam Victim/Survivor’s Story

Survivor’s Origin: MONGOLIA

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

Thank you for the space to share this. I’ve wanted to tell my story for a long time, but I’ve been afraid—afraid that someone I know might read it, that people will gossip, or worse, laugh behind my back. So I’ve kept everything very private. What I went through has left me feeling alone, vulnerable, and ashamed—but I know now I’m not the only one.

My marriage was a disaster. My husband was an alcoholic and unemployed. I was the only one working, raising the children, and trying to keep things together. He was in and out of jail more than he was at home. There was no real partnership—no stability. I finally divorced him in 1995. It was the right decision, but still a difficult one. I was left to rebuild my life alone.

Six months after the divorce, I met a man who seemed like everything my ex-husband wasn’t. He was kind, fun, and had mutual friends. We went out often, shared laughter and moments that made me believe in love again. He wanted to marry me, but I wasn’t ready, and I said no. He moved on, got married, and then six years later, he died in a motorcycle accident. His death shook me deeply.

Life moved forward, but the loneliness stayed. About three years ago, I reconnected with another man—a friend of my ex-husband. Over time, we developed a relationship. It wasn’t perfect, but I thought it had potential. We talked about moving away from George, starting fresh somewhere else. I even considered resigning from my job. But things fell apart. The relationship ended. I was left heartbroken, depressed, and feeling like I had reached another dead end.

Then, out of the blue, I received a friend request from a stranger named Kelvin. At first, I was skeptical. I told him straight away that I had just come out of something painful and wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship. From the start, our communication was rocky. We clashed. But something about it drew me in. Every day, I found myself checking my phone, waiting to see what he would say next.

His messages were beautiful, thoughtful, and full of encouragement. Slowly, I started to feel alive again. After two months of chatting, I realized I had fallen in love with him. I told him, and at first, he was shocked. He said he wasn’t interested in a relationship and wanted to stay friends. I was crushed.

But then, a short while later, everything changed. He called me and told me he had fallen in love with me too. From that point on, our relationship felt like something out of a movie. The love grew stronger every day. He was romantic, supportive, and present. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. He even video-called me once, though the call was short. Still, I saw a man who looked like everything I had dreamed of—charming, sincere, and caring. I believed he was the one.

People around me warned me. But when you’re in love, you don’t want to hear doubts. I trusted Kelvin with my heart and my future. He told me he had a house in Cape Town and was working in Australia, where he also owned property. He explained his silence for a week by saying he was busy and didn’t want to disturb my sleep, considering the time difference between Australia and South Africa.

Still, something in me needed clarity. I asked someone to look into his profile, and I was told that he could be a scammer—that his account might have been hacked. When I confronted him, he said someone had closed his account. We moved our conversations to Hangouts, and later to email. He called me every day. I continued to believe in him.

Then came the message that broke everything apart.

On a Saturday morning, I received a beautiful message from him—one of those notes that melts your heart. But something told me to reach out to a well-known anti-scammer in South Africa and ask her to check his photos. A few hours later, she came back with the truth.

The man in the photos had just gotten married last month. His name wasn’t Kelvin. The person I had been speaking to was a fraud.

I was devastated. Angry. Humiliated. And worst of all, heartbroken. You see, I’m a police officer. I should have known better. I should have spotted the signs. But I didn’t. I was caught between the photos I fell in love with and the voice that comforted me every day. And I still don’t know which one I loved more—the image or the person behind the phone. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to answer that.

What made the scam even more painful is how perfectly it matched the dream I had as a child—to one day marry a Portuguese man. When the friend request came through, Kelvin’s profile said he was Portuguese from Porto. His voice didn’t sound Nigerian or Indian. It sounded like what I imagined a Portuguese man would sound like. That little detail pulled me in even deeper.

We had plans. He was supposed to visit me in December when he returned to Cape Town. We were going to get married in February. He never asked me for money. He inspired me instead—encouraging me to start oil painting and take guitar lessons. He always asked about my art and cheered me on. That’s what makes it harder to accept—it wasn’t just lies and manipulation. It was a connection that felt deeply personal.

Now, I feel empty. Alone. And there’s no one here to give me a hug or sit with me when I cry. I can’t share this with my colleagues—they’d gossip or laugh behind my back. I’ve seen how people react. That’s why I keep this private.

But here, I can say it out loud: I was scammed. I was manipulated. But I’m still here. And I’m still standing.

If you’ve been through something similar, please know you’re not alone. Even the strongest people can be taken in by a well-told lie. What matters now is how we heal, how we support each other, and how we move forward—even when it hurts.

SCARS Institute Notes:

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