My boyfriend publicly humiliated me on Tik Tok, calling me the most hideous girl he’s ever been with before dumping me, so I disappeared without a word. This morning, after ignoring 37 M calls, I opened my door to find him sobbing on his knees.

So Derrick and I have been together for almost 3 years. Met him when I was 21. He was the guy who knew how to fix the garbage disposal when it jammed. First green flag, or so I thought. We exchanged Instagrams, started texting, and the rest just kind of happened.

Past 3 years have been mostly good. We had our rhythm, you know—Netflix documentaries on Thursdays, his mom’s for dinner every other Sunday, camping trips with his friends in the summer. He always remembered my birthday and actually listened when I talked about my day. These days, that’s practically unicorn behavior. Side note: my last boyfriend before him thought emotional labor was a type of child birth, so my bar was admittedly on the floor.

Fast forward to this Tuesday. I’m scrolling on my phone during lunch and my phone dings with a text from my friend Amara. It’s just a Tik Tok link with,
“CALL ME NOW”
in all caps.

Amar is not the dramatic type. She once texted “slight issue” when her apartment was literally flooding.

I click the link and there’s Derek. He at Throwbacks, that dive bar his buddies always hang at on Mondays. I could tell by the neon Budweiser sign behind him that flickers every 7 seconds—we counted once while waiting for our order. He’s clearly six beers deep, red-faced, arms lung around his friend Xavier. Someone off camera asks,
“So rate your girlfriend bro”
and y’all, the look on his face changed. It wasn’t his normal smile. It was this weird smirk I’d never seen before, like he was about to let everyone in on some private joke.

“Eliana honestly probably the most hideous girl I’ve ever been with like a four on a good day”

The bar erupts in “ohhhh” and someone yells “Savage.” Derrick just laughs and keeps going,
“but she cooks really good enchiladas and never complains when I go out with the boys so I keep her around low maintenance you know”

Then someone asks if he’s worried I’ll see the video. His response,
“nah she doesn’t even know what Tik Tok is besides thinking about upgrading soon anyway too much baggage”

The time stamp showed it was posted at 11:43 p.m. Monday night while I was at home doing a freaking clay mask and texting him good night. The video had 177,000 views. 17,000.

I sat there in the break room just staring at my phone. Didn’t cry, didn’t scream, just felt this weird cold feeling spreading through my chest. 3 years together and this is what he actually thinks of me. The night before, he’d been at my place. We’d made dinner together. We’d talked about maybe moving in when my lease ends in August. He’d kissed me goodbye and said love you babe like it was nothing, and apparently 12 hours later I was the hideous girlfriend he was planning to dump.

I texted Amara back,
“coming over after work don’t tell anyone”

Then I muted all notifications, put my phone in my bag, and somehow made it through three more client appointments without completely breaking down. Autopilot is weird like that.

After work I didn’t go home. Went straight to Target, bought a cheap duffel bag, filled it with essentials—toothbrush, deodorant, phone charger, couple T-shirts—spent $47 and 16. The receipt is still in my wallet for some reason. Drove to amar’s apartment complex at 6:13 p.m., sat in the parking lot for 20 minutes just staring at nothing, playing that video over and over in my head. I keep thinking about all the times Derrick told me I looked beautiful. When I dressed up for his company Christmas party. When I was sick with the flu last winter. 3 weeks ago when we were at the beach and I was so self-conscious about wearing a bikini. All lies, or just things you say when you’re with someone.

Amara didn’t ask questions when I showed up, just pointed to her couch bed, two glasses of the cheap rosé we drank in college, and said,
“what’s the plan”

That’s when I decided I’m not giving him the satisfaction of a breakup conversation. No tears, no begging, no dramatic confrontation he can tell his bros about later. I’m just going to disappear.

We spent that night making a checklist. Blocked derck on everything—phone, Instagram, Twitter. Change all my passwords, he knew most of them. Call out from work for the rest of the week. Tell only my mom where I really am.

By midnight, Derrik had texted seven times. Normal stuff at first,
“hey what do you want for dinner”
“and you still coming over tonight”

By morning it was,
“where are you and why aren’t you answering”

By afternoon he’d called 12 times. Not one mention of the Tik Tok. Not one apology. Nothing.

I stayed at amar’s Wednesday and Thursday. Binged all of Love Island—trash TV is surprisingly theraputic when your life is imploding. Cried in the shower so Amara wouldn’t hear. Ordered too much Uber Eats because neither of us felt like cooking.

Friday morning, Amar went to my apartment to grab more of my clothes. Said Derrick had clearly been there—empty energy drink cans on the counter, his jacket thrown over my couch. He’d left a note tape to my door,
“call me we need to talk”

Still nothing about why we might need to talk, like I’m supposed to just not know about the video.

The Tik Tok mysteriously disappeared from his account on Thursday night too late though. It had already been screen recorded and was making rounds in our friend group. My phone was blowing up with,
“are you okay”

texts from people I haven’t talked to in months.

Weekend was a blur of ignoring calls from unknown numbers—Derrik using his friend’s phones once he realized I’d blocked him—and jumping every time someone knocked on amar’s door. Margaret from my old community college group chat sent me screenshots of Derrick’s Instagram stories. Vague posts about “missing someone” and “biggest mistake of my life” with sad song lyrics. Classic damage control.

Sunday night: 26 missed calls. Monday morning: 32.

I finally went back to work on Monday. My manager hugged me when I walked in. Apparently the video had made it to her fyp too. Told me to take another day if I needed it. I said no. I needed normal. Needed to focus on something other than the dumpster fire that was my relationship.

Derrick showed up at the salon during my lunch break. I hid in the supply closet while my coworker told him I wasn’t there. Heard his voice—that familiar low rumble I used to love—through the door. Sounded tired. Good.

By Tuesday morning, exactly 1 week since I’d seen the video, the missed call count was at 37. His latest text just said,
“please”

I needed to swing by my apartment for my mail. Had a package that needed signature. Figured 8:00 a.m. was safe since Derrick usually leaves for work at 7:30. I was wrong.

I unlocked my door and there he was sitting on my welcome mat, the one he gave me that says home is where the Wi-Fi connects automatically. He looked up when he heard my keys. Y’all, the man was a wreck. Hadn’t shaved. Dark circles under his eyes. Wearing the same Metallica shirt he’d had on in his Instagram story from two days ago. When he saw me he literally crumpled—not in a fake dramatic way, like his body physically gave out—on his knees, tears immediately streaming, saying my name over and over.

I just stood there, keys still in hand. Felt nothing, then everything, then nothing again.

“Eliana please I’m so sorry I don’t know why I said those things I was drunk the guys were pressuring me I never meant any of it please just talk to me”

I cut him off.
“I saw what you really think of me there’s nothing to talk about”

Stepped around him like he was a piece of furniture, got my mail, walked back to my car. He followed me to the parking lot—still crying, still begging. Got in my car, locked the doors, drove back to amar’s. He called five more times before I even made it across town.

So that brings us to now. It’s been exactly 8 days, 4 hours, and 22 minutes since I saw that video, since I realized the person I trusted most in the world sees me as a convenient placeholder until something better comes along. I don’t know what happens next. Part of me, a small stupid part, misses him. Misses the routine. Misses believing I was loved. I keep replaying his words from the video—hideous, upgrade—so casual, so cruel. 3 years together and that’s what I’m worth.

We’ll update when there’s more to tell. For now I’m just taking it one day at a time.

First update: y’all remember me, the girl whose boyfriend of 3 years called her hideous on Tik Tok and then had the audacity to act shocked when she disappeared. Yeah. That’s still me, unfortunately. First of all, thank you for all the support on my last post. It’s been exactly 17 days since I saw that video and 9 days since Derrick showed up crying on my doorstep. Let me tell you, things have gotten weird.

So after I left Derrick in the parking lot that morning—Tuesday, 8:43 a.m. according to my car’s time stamp—I drove straight back to amar’s place in full zombie mode. The whole drive my phone kept lighting up with calls. Derrick had apparently moved on to using his mom’s phone to reach me, which is a special kind of desperate.

When I got back to amar’s, I just sat in her kitchen staring at the faded live laugh tequila magnet on her fridge. I couldn’t cry anymore. It was like my emotions had finally reached their data limit for the month.

Amara came home from her shift around 2: p.m. and found me in the exact same position, still in my coat. She just sighed, handed me a white Claw from the fridge—lime, the superior flavor—and said something that actually made me think. She asked,
“if I’d been noticing red flags with Derrick all along but had just been filtering them out”

At first I was defensive. Derrick and I had a good relationship. He remembered my birthday. He watched The Bachelor with me even though he hated it. He never complained when my hair clogged the shower drain. The bar is literally in hell these days and I thought he was clearing it with room to spare.

But then Amar started asking specific questions.
“did Derrick ever make jokes about my appearance before”

Well, there was that time he said my favorite jeans made me look kind of wide but in a cute way. And when I got highlights last summer, he asked if the salon meant to make them that brassy. And he did have a weird habit of pointing out celebrities he found attractive, always the super thin no makeup makeup types who look nothing like me.

“did Derrik support my goals”

I mean, he said he was proud when I got promoted last year, but also suggested maybe I shouldn’t take it because the stress might be too much. When I talked about maybe going back to school someday, he always changed the subject to how expensive it would be.

“did Derrik have equal standards for our relationship”

Thinking about it, not really. If I was 15 minutes late meeting him, I’d get a series of increasingly annoyed texts, but he could cancel plans last minute to hang with the boys and I was supposed to be cool with it.

By the time we finished our white claw, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach. The Tik Tok wasn’t some bizarre out-of character moment. It was just the first time I’d seen what had been there all along without the filter of wanting to believe we were perfect.

That night Derrik escalated to a new level. At exactly 9:17 p.m. Amara’s doorbell rang. We both froze like we’d been caught committing a crime. Through the peephole: Derek, holding the saddest looking grocery store flowers I’ve ever seen. Amara went full Mama Bear mode. She opened the door just enough to block the view inside and told him I wasn’t there. I could hear his voice cracking as he begged her to just let him talk to me for 5 minutes. Said he hadn’t slept in days. Said he’d lost 7bs. Said he’d do anything to fix this.

After Amara finally got him to leave, she found a handwritten letter he’d slipped under the door. Eight pages. Eight. Front and back. I have to admit I read it twice. It was a lot—tear stains on the paper, promises to spend the rest of my life making this up to you, explanations about how he was drunk, how his friends were peer pressuring him, how he’d been having a bad day at work. Classic deflection bingo.

But one line actually got to me.
“I said those horrible things because I’m insecure and afraid you’ll realize you’re too good for me”

For about 20 minutes I actually considered calling him. That’s how messed up my brain was, like he humiliated me publicly and I was feeling bad for him.

Thankfully amar’s Wi-Fi chose that exact moment to crash—classic Thursday night Xfinity outage—so we couldn’t even stream anything. Instead we ended up going through old photos on my phone, and that’s when I had my first real epiphany. In literally every picture of Derrick and me together from the past year, I’m looking at him with this big smile and he’s either looking at his phone or off to the side or making some stupid face. Not a single one where he’s looking at me the way I’m looking at him. How did I never notice that before?

Friday morning brought a new development. My brother Miguel called to tell me that Derrick had shown up at his apartment at 7:00 a.m. asking if he knew where I was. Miguel, being the overprotective brother he is, told Derrick that if he came by again they’d be having a different kind of conversation. Dramatic, but I appreciate the sentiment.

By that point I was actually starting to feel smothered by all of Derrick’s attempts to contact me. It wasn’t romantic. It was uncomfortable. So I did something I’d been avoiding. I drafted a text—simple, direct, no room for misinterpretation.
“I need space please stop contacting me my friends and my family I’ll reach out when if I’m ready to talk”

Sent it at 10:22 a.m., immediately turned my phone off for 3 hours because I couldn’t handle seeing his response.

When I finally checked again, there were five paragraphs waiting for me. The gist: he understood, he’d respect my boundaries, he’d wait forever if that’s what it took. Followed immediately by three more texts asking when forever might end and if we could please just meet for coffee next week. So much for respecting boundaries.

The weekend was actually peaceful. Amara’s roommate Margaret was out of town visiting her parents, so we had the place to ourselves. We ordered in, did face masks, watched all three magic mic movies for the plot obviously, and I went a full 24 hours without checking my phone. It felt like coming up for air after being underwater.

Sunday night, though, things took another turn. I was scrolling through Instagram before bed—bad habit, I know—when I saw it. Derek had posted a video. Not just any video, a public apology to me, tagged me in it and everything. 4 minutes and 27 seconds of him sitting in his car, looking directly at the camera with red rimmed eyes, telling everyone who saw that horrible Tik Tok how sorry he was, how much he regrets hurting the most beautiful person inside and out that he’s ever known, and how he’s learning to be a better man.

The comments were a mess. Some people praising him for taking accountability—barf—others calling him out for making my humiliation about him again. His buddy Xavier commenting stay strong bro like Dereck was the victim here.

I couldn’t sleep after that. Kept thinking about how even his apology was public. Even his supposed rock bottom moment was carefully filmed, probably with multiple takes, posted at optimal engagement hours—8:00 p.m. on a Sunday.

Monday morning I decided I needed to go back to my own apartment. Amara had been amazing, but I couldn’t hide at her place forever. Plus her hot water heater had been acting up all weekend, and cold showers in February are not the vibe.

As I was packing up my duffel bag, my phone pinged with a venmo notification. Derrik had sent me $300 with the note,
“for the anniversary dinner we’ll never have”

Our three-year anniversary would have been next week. I sent it back immediately. Then blocked him on venmo 2.

The drive back to my apartment felt like going to a job interview I knew I’d bomb. Every red light had me checking my rearview mirror, half expecting to see Derrick’s car pull up behind me. But my apartment building was Derk free when I arrived. My neighbor Mrs Rogers nodded at me in the hallway like I hadn’t been gone for over 2 weeks. My plants were all dead—rip to my supposedly impossible to kill snake plant. The air smelled stale and slightly like the Indian takeout I’d forgotten in the fridge. It felt both strange and familiar, like putting on jeans that don’t quite fit anymore.

And then I saw them.

Post-it notes everywhere. On my bathroom mirror,
“I miss your smile”

On my fridge,
“remember our first”

On my TV,
“our Netflix Q misses you”

On my bedside table,
“I can’t sleep without you”

I stood there in shock, slowly realizing what had happened. Derrik still had the spare key I’d given him last year. He’d been in my apartment while I was gone. My skin instantly crawled. I checked all the closets, under the bed, behind the shower curtain, half convinced he might be hiding somewhere. He wasn’t, but the violation of my space felt just as creepy.

I called my landlord immediately and explained the situation. He agreed to change my locks the next morning. Then I systematically went through my apartment, removing every sing SLE Post-It note and ripping them into tiny pieces. Petty maybe. Satisfying absolutely.

That night was my first one back in my own bed, and I won’t lie, it was weird. I kept waking up expecting to feel Derrick’s weight on the mattress. My brain hadn’t caught up to the reality that we were over.

Tuesday morning—yesterday—I was making coffee when someone knocked on my door. My heart stopped for a second before I remembered Derrick’s key wouldn’t work anymore. It wasn’t Derrik. It was Xavier.

Xavier, who had been in that Tik Tok video laughing along while Derrick called me hideous. Xavier, who I’d been friends with before I even met Derek. Xavier, who had apparently come as Derrick’s ambassador. He looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot in the hallway. Started with small talk about the weather—seriously—before finally getting to the point. Derrik was in a really bad place and just wanted 5 minutes to explain himself.

I asked Xavier if he remembered laughing in that video. He had the decency to look ashamed. Said he was drunk and just going along with the guys. Then hit me with this gem,
“he didn’t mean any of it Eliana you know how guys talk when they’re together”

I don’t want to be with someone who talks like that with his friends, drunk or sober. I don’t want to wonder what he says about me when I’m not around. I don’t to be with someone who needs a public meltdown and a friendship intervention to realize he values me. I thanked Xavier for coming by, told him I hoped Derrick would feel better soon, and closed the door.

Last night, I went through my phone and unfollowed Derrick on every platform we were still connected on. Took down the photos of us from my apartment walls. Packed up the hoodie he always left at my place and the Xbox controller he used when he came over. Put them in a box in my closet—not ready to return them yet, but not wanting to see them either.

Then I ordered myself dinner from that place Derrick always complained was too spicy but that I secretly loved. Ate it while watching the last of us, which Derrick refused to watch because he doesn’t like zombie shows. Ed the fancy bath bomb my mom got me for Christmas that I’d been saving for a special occasion.

Around midnight my phone lit up with a text from a number I didn’t recognize.
“it’s Derek please don’t block this number I just need to know one thing did those 3 years mean anything to you because they were everything to me”

I stared at those words for a long time. 3 years. 3 years of inside jokes and holiday dinners and lazy Sunday mornings. 3 years of building a life I thought we’d share forever. And also 3 years of small criticisms dressed as jokes. 3 years of walking on eggshell around his moods. 3 years of making myself smaller to make him comfortable.

I didn’t reply. Just added the number to my blocked list and turned off my phone.

This morning I woke up and did something I haven’t done in 2 and 1/ half weeks. I made a plan for me. Not a reaction to Derek. Not a hiding strategy. Just a normal day for myself.

But as I was heading out to grab coffee, I saw something that stopped me cold. Derk’s profile picture on Instagram had changed to a photo of us from last summer at his cousin’s wedding—my head on his shoulder, both of us smiling. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t affect me at all. But it did.

We’ll update again when there’s more to tell. For now I’m taking it day by day, and remembering what my grandma always said: sometimes the trash takes itself out.

Second update: y’all, I wasn’t planning on updating so soon, but the past week has been a lot and I need to process. It’s been exactly 32 days since I saw that video. One month of rebuilding my life without someone who I thought was my future, and honestly some days are better than others.

The weirdest thing happened last Saturday. I was at Target—my emotional support store, don’t judge—picking up some new sheets because I finally decided to get rid of the gray ones Derrik always said brought out the blue in his eyes. Gag. I was debating between sage green and Terra Cotta when I noticed a woman staring at me from the end of the aisle. At first I thought maybe I had something on my face or toilet paper stuck to my shoe—wouldn’t be the first time—but then she walked over, looking super uncomfortable, and asked if I was the girl from Derrick’s Tik Tok. My stomach instantly nodded up.

It’s one thing to be humiliated online. It’s another to be recognized by strangers at Target on a random Saturday while wearing no makeup and yesterday’s messy bun.

Before I could even respond, she launched into this awkward apology, saying she been one of the people who commented something mean on the original video but felt terrible after seeing Derrick’s public apology and realized how wrong cyber bullying is. Her exact words.

I just stood there clutching my terracotta sheets—decision made by panic, apparently—while the stranger had her character development moment in the homegood section. When she finally stopped talking, I managed to say thanks it’s fine good talk and speed walk to checkout. Sat in my car for 20 minutes afterward with the AC blasting even though it was only 62° outside.

That’s when it hit me. I’m not just Eliana anymore. To some people, I’m the girl from the Tik Tok. My humiliation has become my identifier. And that realization made me angry in a way I hadn’t felt before. Not sad. Angry. Like I’d been for weeks. Pure energizing get done angry.

Sunday morning I woke up at 6:13 a.m., couldn’t sleep, and made a list in my notes app: cut my hair, always wanted to try a LW but Derrick liked it long; join that kickboxing class Amara keeps talking about; finally apply for that certificate program I’ve been putting off; redecorate my bedroom, no more masculine friendly color scheme; download a dating app.

By 11:00 a.m. I’d already crossed off number one. Walked into Super Cuts without an appointment, living dangerously LOL, and chopped off seven in of hair. The stylist kept asking if I was sure, if I needed more time to think about it, if someone had talked me into it. Told her nope, just needed a change. She didn’t need to know I was mentally naming each snip of the scissors after something Derrick had said to me over the years: you’d look better with more defined eyebrows, snip; no guy wants a girl who eats more than him, snip; your laugh is kind of loud sometimes, snip.

When she spun me around to see the final result, I barely recognized myself, in a good way. My neck felt lighter. My head felt lighter. Hell, my whole being felt lighter. Posted a selfie on Instagram when I got home—just me with my new hair, sunlight from my kitchen window, and the caption new month new me. Within an hour it had 87 likes, including from Xavier and two of Derrick’s other friends. Petty satisfaction maybe, but I’ll take the small wins.

Monday brought item number two on my list. Dragged myself to amar’s kickboxing studio at an ungodly hour, convinced I’d make a fool of myself. The instructor Margaret—coincidentally the same name as Amara’s roommate—kept us moving so fast I didn’t have time to feel self-conscious. By the end I was drenched in sweat and my arms felt like overcooked spaghetti, but also strangely powerful. Checked my phone after class to find three missed calls from unknown numbers—Derrick’s new burner phone tactic—and one text from Xavier asking if we could talk sometime. Left him on red. Not ready for that conversation yet.

Tuesday I finally tackled item number three and applied for that digital marketing certificate I’ve been considering for ages. Derek always said it was a waste of money since I already have a stable job. Took me 43 minutes to fill out the application, another 20 to write the short personal statement, and about 3 seconds to hit submit before I could overthink it. Had a mini panic attack immediately after, wondering if I was making a huge mistake. Called my mom, who talked me down in her usual way, half encouragement, half I don’t understand why you’re complicating your life but I support you anyway.

Wednesday was when things got intense. I was at the grocery store when my phone started blowing up with texts from Amara,
“call me now Derek is on Instagram live he’s talking about you it’s bad”

I abandoned my cart in the middle of the serial aisle—sorry underpaid grocery store workers—and ran to my car to watch the train wreck. Sure enough, there was Derek, clearly drunk at 2 p.m. on a Wednesday, red-faced and slurring, talking directly to the camera about how he’d lost the love of his life and didn’t know how to go on. The comments were rolling in fast, mostly people telling him to get help or turn off the live, but he just kept going, reading some comments aloud and ignoring others.

Then he said something that made my blood freeze.
“I know she’s watching this Elana I’m coming over tonight we need to talk this out I’m not taking no for an answer anymore”

I immediately called Amara in full panic mode. She offered to come stay with me, but I ended up calling my brother Miguel instead. He’s closer to my apartment and frankly more intimidating if Derrick actually showed up. Miguel arrived at 5:30 p.m. with girlfriend Tanya and enough overnight stuff for a week. Told me not to argue. They were staying until this dude gets the message. Made himself at home on my couch, connected his Nintendo switch to my TV, and proceeded to act like this was all totally normal.

By 8:00 p.m. I’d almost convinced myself Derrick’s threat was just drunk talk. By 9:00 p.m. I was starting to relax. By 9:47 p.m. the doorbell rang. Miguel answered while Tanya and I stood back. I could hear Derrick’s voice, slurred and emotional, demanding to see me. Miguel’s responses were low and calm. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was clear. After about 5 minutes, I heard my door close. Miguel came back looking annoyed but calm. Said Derrick had finally left after Miguel convinced him this wasn’t a good time—understatement of the year. Also mentioned that Derrik looked rough and smelled like he’d bathed in Jack Daniels.

I slept terribly that night, jumping at every sound outside my window. Kept thinking about how different things were just five weeks ago, when I still believed Derrick was the one, when I still thought I knew him.

Thursday morning I woke up to a text from a number I didn’t recognize.
“this is Derrick’s mom I’m worried about him and don’t know what to do he won’t eat barely sleeps lost his job yesterday for showing up drunk I know you don’t owe him anything but please call me”

Talk about emotional manipulation. She’d always done this, treated Derrick like he couldn’t possibly handle consequences, swooping in to fix everything. One of many red flags I’d ignored. I showed the text to Miguel, who advised ignoring it, but something about it bothered me all day. Not guilt exactly, but a nagging feeling that this situation was spiraling beyond what I’d intended.

Around 3:00 p.m. I decided to text her back.
“I’m sorry Derrick is struggling but I’m not responsible for his choices or his healing please encourage him to get professional help”

She responded immediately.
“he made a mistake everyone deserves forgiveness”

I didn’t reply. Some mistakes change how you see a person forever.

That evening something unexpected happened. I was scrolling through Tik Tok—glutton for punishment, I know—when I saw a video from someone I didn’t follow. It was one of those storytime Tik toks, and the caption made my heart stop: when your friend humiliates his girlfriend on Tik Tok and you finally call him out for being toxic.

It was Franklin, one of Derrick’s longtime friends. The guy who was literally in the original video laughing along. In the video, Franklin explained how he’d been complicit in Derek D’s toxic behavior for years, not just with me but with previous girlfriends too. How the friend group had a pattern of encouraging Derrick’s worst impulses. How the Tik Tok incident had been a wakeup call for him personally. He ended with,
“Eliana if you see this I’m sorry we all failed you and Derek man get help this isn’t about winning her back this is about becoming someone who would never hurt her in the first place”

I watched it seven times. Sent it to Amara, who responded with holy and nothing else for a full 10 minutes. Then Franklin dm’ me on Instagram,
“hey hope that didn’t make things worse just couldn’t stay silent anymore no pressure to respond”

I sat with that for a while. Appreciated that he didn’t expect a response. Finally wrote back, thanks for speaking up better late than never.

We ended up having a surprisingly honest conversation. He told me Derrick had been spiraling hard since I left—drinking daily, getting into fights, alienating friends. Said the friend group was divided between those enabling him and those trying to get him help. Franklin also confirmed something I’d suspected: this wasn’t the first time Derrick had spoken about me that way, just the first time it was recorded. That hit different. Knowing it wasn’t a one-time drunk mistake but a pattern, a true reflection of how he saw me when I wasn’t around.

Friday—yesterday—marked exactly one month since I walked away. I decided to celebrate my independence day by tackling the final item on my list: downloading a dating app. Not because I’m ready to date—God know—but because I wanted to remind myself that Derrik isn’t the only option in the universe, that there’s a whole world of people who might appreciate me without secretly tearing me down.

Setting up my profile felt weirdly vulnerable. Choosing photos where I actually liked how I looked. Writing a bio that was authentically me, not not curated to appeal to one specific person’s preferences. Like stretching muscles I’d forgotten I had.

I had just finished setting up my profile when my phone rang. Another unknown number. I almost declined it automatically, assuming it was Derrick with yet another burner phone, but something made me answer.

It wasn’t Derek. It was his friend Xavier.

Xavier sounded weird. Nervous. Talking too fast. Said he needed to tell me something important. Something about the original Tik Tok. Something that might change how I saw everything. I almost hung up. Almost told him I was done with all of it, done with Derek, done with his friends and their drama.

But then Xavier said the Tik Tok wasn’t spontaneous, Eliana. Derek planned it and I can prove it.

I’m seeing Xavier today at 2 p.m. at the Starbucks. Miguel insisted on coming with me and sitting at a nearby table just in case. I have no idea what Xavier wants to tell me. I’ll update after I meet with Xavier. My stomach’s in knots and I’ve changed my outfit four times already. Wish me luck, I guess.

Edit: just about to leave for Starbucks. Thanks for all the supportive comments. To answer the most common questions: no, I haven’t unblocked Derrick and don’t plan to. Yes, I’m bringing my pepper spray, thanks for the concern LOL. And no, I don’t want Derrick back. I just want to understand WTF happened.

Last update: y’all, I’ve rewritten this post four times now because I still can’t believe everything that’s happened. First, thank you to everyone who sent supportive messages after my cliffhanger last update. Sorry for leaving you hanging, but I genuinely needed time to process what Xavier showed me.

Let’s back up to Saturday at 2:03 p.m. I walked into Starbucks with my stomach and knots. Spotted Xavier in the corner booth nervously shredding a napkin. Miguel took his position at a table near the door, looking very obvious despite his disguise of sunglasses worn indoors. Xavier looked rough—not Derek level disaster but definitely stressed. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair unwashed. Wearing the same shirt I’d seen him in at least three times on Instagram recently.

The first 5 minutes were painfully awkward. He apologized about 17 different ways for his part in the Tik Tok situation. I just sipped my LTE and waited for him to get to the point. Finally he pulled out his phone.
“before I show you this you need to know I didn’t find it until yesterday I was going through some old group chats trying to find a pizza place we ordered from once and I saw this thread that Derrik started about a month before”

He slid his phone across the table. It was opened to a WhatsApp group chat titled Weekend Warriors. I Roll With Derek, Xavier, Franklin, and two other guys. The messages were from 5 weeks before the Tik Tok incident.

“Derek need your help with something boys”
“Franklin what’s up”
“Derek trying to figure out how to break up with e”
“Xavier wo for real thought you guys were looking at places together”
“Derek yeah that’s the problem she’s getting too serious plus I met someone at the gym”

I felt my face getting hot as I scrolled. Derrick went on to explain that he’d been talking to his words a girl named Adriana for almost 3 months, but he was worried about how I’d react to a breakup since we shared so many friends and she can get emotional. Excuse me. As I kept reading, it got worse. Derrik was literally asking his friends for advice on how to make me break up with him so he could look like the good guy. Their suggestions ranged from gradually becoming more distant, to picking fights over nothing, to—and this is what made me nearly drop the phone—just be an on social media so she sees it and dumps you.

The last message in the thread was from Derek,
“Tik Tok might be the move she never checks it anyway”

I looked up at EX savior, who couldn’t meet my eyes.

Why show me this now, I asked. He explained that after our last conversation he’d been feeling increasingly guilty about his part and everything. Said he’d assumed the Tik Tok was just drunk stupidity, not a calculated move. Didn’t know about Adriana until he found these messages. Derrick’s been lying to everyone, Xavier said, telling us how heartbroken he is, how he made the biggest mistake of his life. Meanwhile he’s still texting Adriana. I saw them together at Chipotle yesterday.

It was like the final puzzle piece clicking into place. The Tik Tok wasn’t a drunken mistake. It was deliberate. Just a plan that backfired when I disappeared instead of confronting him.

I sat there for a moment trying to process the fact that not only had Derrik intentionally humiliated me online, but he’d done it to escape our relationship and be with someone else, and now he was playing the devastated boyfriend role to save face with everyone. I thanked Xavier for showing me the truth, then walked out of Starbucks with Miguel trailing behind asking 70 questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

That night I made a decision. After 37 days of silence, I was going to talk to Derek on my terms. Not to get back together—that ship had sailed, hit an iceberg, and sunk to the bottom of the o—but to let him know that I knew everything.

Sunday morning at exactly 10 a.m., I texted Dereck from my real number,
“we need to talk today 2 p.m. Java Hut on Maine don’t be late”

He responded within 12 seconds.
“I’ll be there thank you Elana I love you”

Spoiler alert: he does not in fact love me.

I spent the next 3 hours oscillating between absolute certainty and complete panic. Changed my outfit four times. Practiced what I wanted to say in the mirror like I was preparing for a job interview. Called Amara twice to talk me off the ledge. Arrived at Java Hut 20 minutes early to secure the corner table with my back to the wall—tactical positioning. Ordered a chai latte I had zero intention of actually drinking.

Derrik walked in at 1:58 p.m., scanning the cafe until he spotted me. He looked better than I expected. Showered. Shaved. Wearing the blue button down I’d given him. For a split second, my heart did that familiar flip it always did when I saw him. Then I remembered the WhatsApp messages.

He reached for a hug, which I avoided by gesturing to the chair across from me. His face fell, but he sat down. Launched immediately into what sounded like a rehearsed speech about how sorry he was, how much he missed me, how the past month had been the worst of his life.

I let him talk for exactly 2 minutes. Then I placed my phone screen up between US, open to the screenshots Xavier had sent me of the group chat.

“So who’s Adriana”
I asked.

The look on his face, y’all, it was like watching someone get hit with a taser. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

“that’s those are Xavier shouldn’t have”

“just tell me the truth Derek for once”

The next 20 minutes were illuminating. Once he realized he was caught, the apologies stopped and the excuses started. Adriana was just a friend at first. Sure. Yan. He’d been confused about our relationship for months. He thought 3 years was too long to be with one person in your 20s. The Tik Tok was stupid, but he never thought I’d see it.
“I panicked when you disappeared”
he admitted.
“I realized I’d made a huge mistake Adriana wasn’t worth losing you over”

That’s when it clicked. He wasn’t devastated about hurting me. He was devastated about looking like the bad guy. About losing control of the narrative. About everyone knowing what he’d done.

I took a sip of my cold chai and said the words I’d been practicing all morning.
“I’m not here to get back together Derek I’m here to tell you that I know everything and I’m done don’t contact me my friends or my family again we’re over”

His eyes welled up with tears that I’m now 99% sure were performative.
“but I love you”
he said.
“we can fix this I’ll do anything”

“If you loved me you wouldn’t have spent 3 months planning how to humiliate me so you could be with someone else”

I stood up, gathering my purse and jacket. That’s when he played his final card, one I wasn’t expecting.
“I broke the lease on my apartment”
he blurted out.
“I’ve been staying with my mom I thought I thought we’d be moving in together next month like we planned”

For a brief insane moment I felt guilty, like I was the one ruining his life. Then I remembered the cold calculation of those messages, planning actly how to break my heart in the most public way possible.

“you should call Adriana”
I said.
“I’m sure she has room at her place”

And then I walked out. No dramatic exit. No scene. Just done.

He texted 17 times in the next 2 hours, switching from apologetic to angry to desperate and back again. I didn’t reply to any of them. Just took screenshots and sent them to Amara with the caption the audacity continues.

Around noon my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number. My first thought was here we go again, but it wasn’t Derek.
“hi Eliana you don’t know me but I think we need to talk Derrick’s been telling me one story and apparently telling you another”

We met for coffee that afternoon. I’ve consumed enough caffeine this week to power a small city.

Turns out Adriana had no idea Derrick had a girlfriend until two weeks ago when she saw his public apology Tik Tok. He told her he was single. Had been for months. And was dealing with a crazy ex who couldn’t let go. Sound familiar.

The craziest part? She’s actually nice. We ended up talking for 3 hours, comparing notes on Derrick’s lies. She showed me texts where he was telling her he loved her the same day he was leaving sobbing voice mails on my phone. By the end of our conversation, we were following each other on Instagram and had made tentative plans to check out a new wine bar that’s opening next month. Trust issues solidarity, I guess.

That night I finally did something I’d been putting off. I unblocked Derrik on Instagram—just temporarily—and went to his profile. His story from 3 hours earlier was a black screen with the song glimpse of us playing, Jo’s sad boy anthem, so on brand, and the text sometimes you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. His profile picture was still us from last summer. His most recent post: a throwback photo of us from our second anniversary with the caption I’d give anything to go back.

Meanwhile Adriana had sent me screenshots of him texting her that same day asking if she wanted to hang out later.

I’ve never felt more certain of a decision in my life.

Yesterday marked exactly 40 days since I discovered the Tik Tok. 6 weeks of pain, anger, confusion, and finally clarity. I officially blocked Derrik on every platform. Changed my number this morning. Told my landlord under no circumstances should he ever be allowed into the building.

And then I did something just for me. Remember that digital marketing certificate I applied for? I got accepted yesterday. Classes start next month. Paid the deposit with money I’d been saving for the apartment Derrik and I were supposed to share.

Last night Amara, Miguel, and a few other friends came over for an impromptu goodbye Derek party. We ordered pizza, drank cheap wine, and took turns reading the increasingly desperate text he sent over the past weeks. Toxic, I know, but also weirdly cathartic.

At one point Miguel asked if I was sad about wasting 3 years with Derek, and the thing is, I’m not. Those years weren’t a waste. They were a lesson about red flags I’ll never ignore again. About my own resilience. About the kind of relationship I actually deserve.

This morning I woke up to a notification that Derrick had tagged me in a new Instagram post. My finger hovered over the view button for about 3 seconds before I realized I don’t care what it says. His words have no power over me anymore.

Instead I deleted the notification, made my coffee, and sat on my balcony watching the sunrise.

So I guess this is officially the end of this saga, y’all.

Edit: people are asking if I’m worried Derrick will see this post. Honestly part of me hopes he does. Let him read how thoroughly he failed at controlling this narrative. Let him see that his hideous ex is thriving without him. And to any other girls out there dealing with your own dcks: you deserve better, and better exists, trust me.