After a bitter divorce, all Susan wanted was a friendly pen pal. So how did she end up losing everything, including her home?
I gave a wave to my daughter and her boyfriend.
‘Have an amazing time,’ I said.
They were heading to America for three weeks.
It afforded me precious time to look after my two grandchildren.
And it was a welcome distraction.
I was in the midst of an ugly divorce after my marriage of 40 years had collapsed.
And not only that, my brother, who lived in Holland, was battling pancreatic cancer.
Aged 64, I was enduring the hardest time of my life.
‘Night, kids,’ I chimed, waving the teenagers off to sleep.
Sinking into the sofa downstairs, I logged on to Match.com.
I wasn’t seeking love as such — more like the modern version of a pen pal.
After all, I’d been in a relationship most of my adult life, and the dating world was totally alien to me.
Suddenly, a message from someone called Stephen popped up.
Hey Susan, how are you?, it read.
I scrolled through his pictures.
He was an American soldier and sported an army buzz cut.
I didn’t find him overly attractive — but he looked friendly.
Maybe he can be an interesting pen pal, I thought, typing a reply.
And I was right.
Because for the next 12 months, we chatted every evening.
Have you watched The Notebook, it’s my favourite movie, he texted me one night.
Stephen, from Texas, loved sending me recommendations.
And after watching The Notebook, it was clear he was an old-school romantic.
As the months slipped by, I’d often wake up to find he’d sent a YouTube link to a soothing country song.
It was nice knowing someone was out there thinking of me.
We had so much in common and we built a special connection.
After a difficult period, I no longer felt as lonely.
I opened up about my struggles to Stephen and he told me all about his daughter, Samantha.
She was at university in Aberdeen.
Stephen was 59, and he said he was planning on retiring soon.
I want to build a life in the UK, Donald Trump doesn’t look after veterans over here, he told me. Plus, I will be close to you and my daughter.
I was flattered.
Stephen had spent months working on an oil rig in Nigeria, but now he decided to quit work for good.
It was exciting.
I was an assistant pharmacist, and I was also planning to retire.
Perhaps this would be my happy ever after, following my divorce.
Over time, I developed feelings for Stephen and hoped we could build a life together.
As Christmas approached, he announced he was coming to see me.
'I can't send any more money'
I can’t wait, I texted.
Then, a few nights later, he texted me again.
I’ve been mugged, and all my money is gone, he wrote.
He’d been on his way to the airport to book his flights to the UK — the thieves had taken everything, including all his cash and credit cards.
Thankfully, my divorce settlement had been processed after my old home was sold.
Don’t worry, I can help, I replied, desperate to meet him at last.
I sent him £680 for his flights from Nigeria to England with a stopover in Dubai.
He emailed me the itinerary.
I even checked the flights on the airline websites.
After all, even though I had a bond with Stephen, you couldn’t be too careful.
But the details all added up.
Besides, Stephen had never asked for money before and I knew he’d pay me back.
Text me when you’re in Manchester Airport and I’ll come and pick you up, I wrote.
He was due to land at three o’clock in the afternoon.
I stared at my phone as the hours came and went.
Nothing.
At midnight, a message woke me up.
I’ve been arrested, Stephen wrote.
I sat bolt upright, scared.
Stephen explained that military officers had taken him off the plane before take-off and charged him with tax evasion.
I’ve been taken to a detention centre, he said.
He explained that the army couldn’t help.
Desperate, I emailed the American Embassy, but because I wasn’t a family member, they refused to speak with me.
I need help paying for a lawyer, I promise I will pay you back, Stephen pleaded.
I didn’t doubt him.
Every week, I sent him more and more money.
I spent the Christmas period riddled with anxiety, hoping he’d be OK.
But soon, he started complaining of migraines.
And weeks after the arrest, Stephen delivered devastating news.
I’ve been diagnosed with a brain tumour, he wrote.
I sat alone in my home and cried.
I have nobody else that can help me, Stephen wrote.
He even sent me heartbreaking photographs of him hooked up to drips in hospital.
I felt so sorry for him, going through hell in a foreign country.
He was sick, alone and a suspected criminal.
Thinking of my hefty divorce settlement, I knew I had to do something.
So I did.
I paid thousands of pounds for his treatment over the next few months.
Eventually, he was cancer-free.
I can’t send any more money, I just want to see you now, I told him one day.
By then, I was broke.
I couldn’t keep up with payments on my rented home and I scraped just enough money together to go to Holland for my brother’s funeral.
And just like that, Stephen, the man I’d spent years building a connection with, disappeared.
I lost my man and my home, just like that.
Deep down, I knew why.
I’d been duped.
He only wanted my money, I told myself.
I was too scared to calculate how much I’d sent him, but it was at least £22,000.
Feeling ashamed, I kept it a secret.
But four months after Stephen ceased contact, he messaged again. Reading his texts, I rolled my eyes.
He said he’d been in intensive care with COVID-19.
And surprise surprise, he needed money for medical bills and food.
I felt used and worthless.
In a fit of fury, I sent him a barrage of messages.
You had no conscience about taking my divorce settlement from me, I told him. Thanks so much for your declaration of love, you don’t even know what love is unless it has a dollar sign in front of it.
Stephen replied.
Please forgive me.
I wrote back.
I want my 22k that’s all. I’ve had four years of misery and debts all because I trusted you with my life. BAD mistake I’ve learnt from that.
He replied again.
Please sweetie. I will keep apologising.
But I’d had enough.
He tried his best to ruin my life, and he came close.
I now live in shared accommodation with four other people.
My confidence has been shattered by the con.
I always believed I was a good judge of character, but now I don’t even trust my own decisions.
And as for dating, forget it.
At 68, I just want to be happy again, and I don’t trust men.
If you start chatting to a stranger online, demand to speak to them on a video call and do a Google reverse image search on their photographs.
I can only guess Stephen was using photos of another entirely unconnected man that he found on the internet.
I’m scared he could use the photos I sent him in the future to scam someone else.
I’ll never know who Stephen is or what his real name is.
Perhaps he grew up in poverty and this was his way of getting by.
But regardless of this man’s circumstances, there is never an excuse for what he did to me.
Susan Johnson, 68, Manchester