My Scam Victim/Survivor Story #75

I’m a 58-year-old woman living in Walnut Creek, California, and I never imagined I’d lose $34,000 to a romance scam that began with an Instagram message during a troubled time in my 22-year marriage. Feeling alone and unloved, I was vulnerable when a scammer, posing as a caring stranger, entered my life, becoming the catalyst for my divorce finalized in October 2024. His promises of affection and a shared future filled a void, but his deception led to financial ruin and emotional turmoil. This story is about my struggle, the despair that followed, and the faith-driven recovery that’s helping me rebuild. I’m sharing this to warn you, hoping you avoid the same pain.

By mid-2023, my marriage was a hollow shell. I felt invisible, my husband distant, and our bond eroded by years of neglect. I was alone even with him here, I told myself, yearning for someone to value me. That’s when I received an Instagram message from a man calling himself Paul Carter, claiming to be a businessman from Atlanta. His profile was warm, with photos of him at coffee shops and hiking trails, and his messages were kind, asking about my love for gardening and my faith. You’re a special soul, he wrote, and I felt seen for the first time in years.

We moved to private chats, and Paul’s attention was intoxicating. He shared stories of his travels and dreams, painting a future where we’d share simple joys. I see us together, building a life, he said, and I let myself hope, ignoring the doubts. My unhappiness at home made his words a balm, and I didn’t question why he avoided video calls, blaming his busy schedule. His flattery filled a void, but it was a trap, set by a scammer who saw my loneliness as an opportunity.

In September 2023, Paul introduced me to Coinbase, suggesting we invest together. It’s a way to secure our future, he said, transferring $5,000 to my bank account and asking me to move it to Coinbase. I complied, not suspecting it was fraudulent money. In November, he sent another $10,000, but my bank flagged it, and I had it returned, feeling uneasy. Something’s off, I thought, but his reassurances kept me hooked. He promised to visit in December, sending a fake itinerary from Thailand, claiming business delayed him. We’ll meet soon, I promise, he wrote, and I clung to that hope.

Paul then asked me to log into his “bank account” due to internet issues, showing transactions that seemed real. I transferred funds, later realizing the account was fake. When I tried again, the account froze, and he begged for help, claiming his mother’s expenses were at risk. Please, you’re my only hope, he pleaded. Guilt overwhelmed me, and I sent $30,000, then $4,000 more, draining my savings. He pushed further, asking to borrow from my sister and use my account for a “lending company.” No, that’s too far, I said, finally resisting. The refusals marked a turning point, but the damage was done.

By January 2024, I was broken, praying for answers. Why isn’t he coming? I cried, and a sense of peace filled me, urging me to verify his identity again. I’d searched his photos before, but this time, I dug deeper online, discovering his images were stolen from another man’s profile. Everything was a lie, I realized, heartbroken. I confronted him on Viber, pouring out my pain, mentioning my twin boys’ college fund. He asked for my bank login, which I refused, and sent $400 in cash, urging me to convert it to Bitcoin. I’m not falling for it again, I told him, revealing I knew the truth. Days later, my account was hacked, draining what little I had left. I reported it to my bank, opening a fraud claim, but one representative wrongly claimed I owed $90,000, triggering panic attacks. Another clarified the claim was processing, but fear kept me from calling back. I’m too raw, I admitted, waiting anxiously.

The scam deepened my despair. Suicidal thoughts crept in, and without my Christian faith, I might not have survived. I ruined my life, I thought, ashamed of my divorce, the money lost, and letting a scammer in when I wasn’t ready for love. He pulled me from one pit only to throw me off a cliff, I told myself, grieving both the scam and my marriage. My ex-husband, initially angry, softened through a family member’s support, but my heartbreak lingered, mixed with anger at myself for missing red flags, like his refusal to video call.

Recovery began with faith and new connections. My therapist introduced EMDR to process trauma, though it brought vivid dreams and anxiety, especially after a Good Friday attack. God, please stop this, I begged, and the attacks eased. Two best friends and a Christian coworker became my anchors, their support a lifeline. You’re loved, human, forgiven, my coworker said, lifting a cloud of self-condemnation. My boys, happier post-divorce, gave me purpose, and their voices one January night—Let go—felt like God’s guidance, urging me to release guilt. I’m not being punished, I realized, finding peace.

In March 2025, I shared my feelings of missing the scammer’s affection online, connecting with others who felt the same. You miss the dream, not the person, a user wrote, easing my shame. I confronted the scammer, expressing my anger, only to face his fake apologies and a new fraudulent profile, which I reported to the platform until it was removed. He’s still out there, but I’m done, I declared, blocking him.

You can avoid scams like mine by staying cautious and verifying online connections. If someone avoids video calls or pushes financial requests, pause and investigate their identity thoroughly. I should’ve demanded a call, I admitted. Never transfer money for someone you haven’t met in person, no matter how convincing their story. It felt urgent, but it was a trick, I learned. Protect your accounts with strong passwords and monitor for breaches. If pressured, consult a trusted friend before acting. My sister would’ve stopped me, I realized. Report suspicious messages to platforms and your bank immediately, and seek counseling to heal emotionally, as I did with SCARS support groups. These steps safeguard your heart and finances.

I’m rebuilding, leaning on faith and community. Counseling, Christian music, and sermons help manage anxiety, letting me work and shop without panic. God’s carrying me, I tell myself, finding strength in surrender. My coworker’s wisdom—Maybe God showed you what could be, not with him—gave me hope, and three small rainbows after my losses felt like divine signs. I’m learning to fight negative thoughts, replacing them with truth, and embracing my worth. I’m enough, I say, a step toward healing.