I met a man at a speed dating event on a quiet Friday night. It was the kind of evening where everyone was either laughing nervously or pretending to be relaxed, but there was something about him that stood out. His name was Ben, and he seemed charming, articulate, and genuinely interested in hearing about my life. We shared stories of childhood experiences, travel, and our favorite foods—basic speed dating talk, but it felt easy, natural even.
After the event, we exchanged numbers, and over the next few days, we talked more. Texts flowed freely, phone calls were lighthearted, and we set a time to meet up for dinner. It wasn’t love at first sight, but there was potential, and for the first time in a while, I found myself looking forward to seeing where this could go.
I decided to tell my mom about him. I’ve always been close with her, and her opinion means a lot to me. So, one evening, I showed her a photo of Ben that he had sent me, along with a little description of our conversations. My mother stared at the screen for what felt like forever, her face draining of color. I thought maybe she was just being overprotective, as mothers often are, but she didn’t speak right away. Instead, she asked me for a few more details—how long I had known him, what he did for work, where he lived, and if I had Googled him yet.
At first, I laughed it off, thinking it was all a little over-the-top. But my mother’s expression grew more serious, her lips pressed together as if she were holding back something critical. And then, she did something that shocked me—she immediately reached for the phone and dialed the police.
Confused, I asked, “What are you doing? Why are you calling the police?”
My mom’s response made my stomach drop: “I’m not taking any chances. That man’s photo matches the description of a man who’s been linked to a series of scams in the area. He’s been pretending to be someone else to gain trust, and then disappearing with money or valuables.”
I froze. My mind raced through everything I knew about Ben—his phone number, his address, his “job,” the way he had described his background. I hadn’t thought to verify any of it, trusting him like anyone would in the early stages of a new connection. But my mom’s voice was firm and urgent. She insisted that I should never take things at face value, especially when it came to people I met online or at speed dating events.
The police arrived shortly afterward, taking a few details and assuring me they’d look into it. I felt a wave of embarrassment flood over me, but the officers were professional, and it seemed they appreciated my caution. A few hours later, I received a message from Ben, asking why I hadn’t responded to his last text. But when I Googled his name and did a reverse image search on his photo, the truth hit me like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t who he said he was.
Ben was a con artist, using stolen identities and fake stories to get close to unsuspecting people. I had narrowly avoided falling into his trap, and I couldn’t help but feel thankful for my mother’s intervention, no matter how dramatic it seemed at the time. I’d learned a valuable lesson that night—not everything is as it seems, and sometimes, it takes an unexpected moment of clarity from those who care about us most to save us from ourselves.
