The Whole 9 Yards

I received an email last Tuesday night around 11 PM. I had ended my day on a high note after pushing through cardio at the gym. I work ten-hour days, so showing up for myself like that is a win. It felt good.

Then the email arrived later that night, shifting everything.

This stranger dropped a bomb on me. It was concise and apologetic, but it left me with more questions than answers. First of all… where did she even get my email?

I have a few theories. Maybe she works with my old company, since earlier that morning I had emailed HR asking for my tax forms. Or maybe she found it through my blog as I have it linked on my Instagram. Either way, it felt invasive.

I empathize with the gravity of what she’s been through. I truly do. But dropping something that heavy with no closure feels selfish. It felt like she wanted to relieve herself of guilt at the cost of my peace. A woman I never even knew existed had just changed my reality.

Honestly, I’m thankful for her email because it gave me the final push to face the truth I’ve been carrying for so long. Even though I thought I had already made peace with the inevitability of my relationship, I didn’t expect it to end this way.

This heavy.
This painful.

The following day, he came home and acted like nothing had happened. When we talked about it, he went through all his cards: shouting, downplaying, spinning the narrative, and gaslighting. I crashed out. I could have gotten past the email, but the way he spoke to me, with no remorse, pushed me over the edge. I snapped and threw my beloved olive tree to the ground.

Then, in my peripheral vision, I saw him reach into his pocket and take out his phone. I turned to him, and he was recording me.

His whole alibi was that the woman was crazy. And in that moment, I realized he would use the same alibi for me. That’s when I knew it was over. He would do anything to protect himself, even if it meant turning against me. He weaponized the pain he caused me, and threatened me: “It won’t end well for you.”

Nothing I did that night was as crazy as giving him everything. Years of carrying the emotional, mental, parental, and financial weight. Damn.

Why am I writing about something so personal, so soon?
In his narrative, I’m already the crazy one.

Might as well play the part.