I met Fabian almost exactly two years ago at the weirdest possible moment. I was grabbing some groceries at Trader Joe’s when I heard this store manager absolutely laying into some guy about parking in the wrong spot or something. The manager was being such a jerk about it, all redfaced and pointing, making a scene in front of everyone.

The guy—Fabian—just stood there looking mortified. Idk what came over me tbh. But I stepped in and said something like:

“The parking signs were confusing and maybe we could all just take a breath.”

The manager glared at me but backed off. Fabian looked so relieved, and as we both checked out, he asked if he could buy me coffee as a thank you.

We clicked immediately. He was charming, tall with this crooked smile that did things to my heart. He listened when I talked, or at least seemed to, remembered little details, and texted me good morning every single day. By our third date, I was already falling hard.

My parents, especially my dad, were always super supportive of me. They’d helped me get an apartment after college while I was finding myself career-wise. Dad also helped with my car payments and some other bills. I always felt a little guilty about it, but they insisted they wanted to help while I got on my feet.

Fabian moved in with me about 8 months into our relationship. It seemed fast, but his roommate situation had fallen apart, and it just made sense. My parents were cautiously optimistic. Mom liked him right away. Dad took longer to warm up, but eventually he seemed to accept Fabian. They even played golf together a few times, which was dad’s ultimate seal of approval.

Everything seemed perfect until it wasn’t.

About six months ago, Fabian’s parents started coming around more often. They lived about an hour away and would drop by for dinner or Sunday brunch. His mom, Lydia, was always complimenting my apartment or my cooking or whatever. His dad, Arthur, was quieter, but polite enough. They were fine, I guess, but something about them always felt off, like they were performing rather than just being themselves.

During one of these visits, Lydia got tearyeyed looking around my living room and said something like:

“You have such a warm atmosphere here. It’s been so long since we felt like a family.”

Arthur nodded along, adding that their Fabian is just golden and they hope we stay together a long time. It felt weirdly intense, but I smiled and thanked them.

Looking back, there were signs I missed. Little comments Fabian would make about my dad’s generosity or jokes about how he’d hit the jackpot with me. The way he’d text his parents right after we got anything new for the apartment. How he never seemed to be actively looking for better work opportunities despite constantly talking about his big plans.

I started noticing patterns whenever we were around my parents and the topic of money or careers came up. Fabian would go quiet or change the subject. If my dad mentioned his business, Fabian would suddenly become super interested, asking detailed questions. When we were alone later, he’d make these little digs about my dad being old money or set in his ways.

One night when we were scrolling through Instagram together, he saw a photo of his ex and muttered something about how she had the looks but not the stability. When I asked what he meant, he just kissed my forehead and said I was the whole package. I remember feeling weird about it.

I started paying more attention. I noticed he’d be on his phone a lot, smiling at texts, but would put it face down if I walked near. Once I glimpsed him messaging someone about how things were looking up financially. When I asked, he said it was just his buddy talking about a new job. I wanted to believe him.

Three times. Three times I overheard snippets of phone conversations with his mom where he said things like:

“It’s comfortable.”

Or:

“I’m just holding on for now.”

Each time he’d see me and immediately switch topics, talking loudly about weekend plans or what to have for dinner.

After the third time, I started recording random conversations when he was on the phone. I know that sounds crazy invasive, but something felt so off and I needed to know if I was being paranoid or if my instincts were right. Mostly, I caught nothing. Just normal conversations about sports or plans with friends.

Then came that dinner at his parents house.

They invited us over for this fancy meal. Steaks, salads, wine, the works. Lydia kept touching my arm and telling me how happy they were that Fabian had found someone so supportive. Arthur asked questions about my dad’s business, which felt weird since they’d met several times already.

After dinner, I offered to cut the pie Lydia had baked. I went to the kitchen, leaving my phone on the dining room table, but before I left, I started the voice memo recording. I just needed to know. The kitchen and dining room were separated by a half wall, so I could hear them, but they couldn’t see me.

I stood there slicing the pie when I heard Fabian laugh. That same laugh he does when he’s trying to impress someone. His voice got lower, but I could still hear every word.

“She’s convenient. Her dad’s money keeps me comfortable while I figure things out.”

My hands froze on the knife. I might have stopped breathing for a second. He went on.

“I’ll stick around long enough to squeeze what I can out of her. Then I’ll find someone worth showing off.”

I heard Arthur snort like he was amused. Then Lydia’s voice, quieter but clear.

“Just don’t get her pregnant.”

Fabian again.

“God, no. Can you imagine being tied to her family forever? Her dad is an arrogant old goat. If it wasn’t for the money, I wouldn’t even say hello to him.”

I stood there holding the knife, my whole body just burning. I wanted to scream or throw something or walk out and never come back. But instead, I just kept cutting the pie slice by slice, perfect triangles. I don’t even remember thinking about it. I just did it.

I walked back into the dining room, plates in hand, and smiled. I set the pie down, served each of them a slice, and sat in my chair. Fabian put his arm around me and kissed my cheek. I didn’t flinch. I just smiled and asked Lydia about her garden.

The rest of the evening is a blur. I remember laughing at their jokes, helping clean up, and kissing Fabian in the car on the way home. I remember grabbing my phone from the table before we left. I remember opening the door to our apartment—the apartment my parents were paying for—and watching him kick off his shoes and flop on the couch like everything was normal.

Because for him, it was.

I didn’t confront him that night or the next day or the day after that. I just watched him. Watched how he’d check my dad’s social media accounts when he thought I wasn’t looking. Noticed how he’d suggest we visit my parents when our fridge was getting empty. Saw how he’d mention his student loans when my dad was around.

A week passed. I barely slept. I kept replaying the recording, thinking maybe I’d misheard or misunderstood. But no. His words were crystal clear.

“She’s convenient.”

“Her dad’s money keeps me comfortable.”

“I’ll find someone worth showing off.”

I stopped eating much, stopped talking unless I needed to. I’d lock myself in the bathroom and just sit on the floor trying to figure out what to do. Fabian noticed something was off, but seemed annoyed rather than concerned. He kept asking if I was on my period or just being dramatic.

It was mom who finally broke through. She stopped by unexpectedly one afternoon when Fabian was out with friends, took one look at me, and sat me down at the kitchen table.

“What’s going on with you and Fabian? Is he behaving normally?” she asked, her eyes searching mine.

I wasn’t crying. I was past crying. I just felt empty.

“Do you want to hear it?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Of course. Just don’t interrupt, okay?”

I pulled out my phone, opened the voice memo app, and hit play. We sat in silence as Fabian’s voice filled the kitchen.

“She’s convenient. Her dad’s money keeps me comfortable.”

Mom’s face went completely still. By the time the recording reached arrogant old goat, she was trembling. When it ended, she didn’t speak for what felt like forever. Then she stood up, walked to the hallway, and grabbed her coat.

“Don’t let him come back here tonight,” she said.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To your father. Wait here.”

I sat alone in the kitchen after she left and my phone buzzed with a text from Fabian.

“grabbing drinks with the guys. BB back late. Don’t wait up.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I opened my laptop and started making a list.

First update. OMG. Thank you all SM for the supportive comments on my last post. Wasn’t expecting this to blow up like it did. Some of you asked for updates. So, here’s what happened after my parents showed up.

I’ve never seen my dad that quiet before. He’s usually the type to fill silences, telling dad jokes, asking questions, making small talk. But when he walked through my door that night, he just nodded at me. Mom was right behind him, her hand on his back like she was studying him. Mom told him I had something he needed to hear.

I felt my stomach twist as I pulled out my phone again. Part of me wanted to chickenen out, to say never mind and pretend everything was fine, because playing that recording meant things would change forever. But I hit play anyway.

Watching my dad listen to Fabian’s voice was… I don’t even know how to describe it. At first, his face didn’t change at all. He just stared at my phone on the table. Listening to Fabian laugh about how I was convenient. When Fabian called him an arrogant old goat, I saw something flicker in his eyes.

Dad didn’t explode like I thought he might. He just sat there for a long moment after the recording ended. Then he reached across the table and took my hand.

He asked if I was okay. Not what I was going to do or how this happened, but if I was okay. I wasn’t expecting that question to age. I’d been so focused on the betrayal and what to do next that I hadn’t really thought about whether I was okay.

And the answer was no, I wasn’t.

I started crying then, really crying for the first time since I’d heard the recording. Dad squeezed my hand and just let me cry. Mom made tea, which is her solution to everything.

When I finally calmed down, Dad asked when the recording was from. I told him it had been a week. He nodded like that made sense. Then he asked where Fabian was now. I checked my phone. Three more texts from him.

“Getting another round.”

“Mike says hi.”

“Don’t wait up, babe.”

So normal. So oblivious.

I told Dad Fabian was out drinking with friends and wouldn’t be back for hours. That’s when Dad’s demeanor changed. He straightened up in his chair and asked if I had my laptop. I grabbed it from the couch where I’d left it open with my what to do list. He glanced at it and actually smiled a little. Turns out we’d been thinking along the same lines.

We spent the next two hours making a plan. Concrete steps, not just angry reactions. Dad was methodical, making his own list in the notes app on his phone. It was weird. I expected rage, but instead got this calm, focused problem solving that was somehow more intense than any shouting would have been.

First on the list: the apartment. Dad had co-signed the lease and was paying the rent. He called the property management company right there at my table. He explained he needed to terminate the current lease and sign a new one in just my name. The leasing agent tried to explain that there would be fees and paperwork, but Dad cut her off.

“I’ll pay whatever fees are necessary.”

“I need this done immediately.”

When she hesitated, he added that he could come to the office first thing tomorrow morning if that would help speed things up. Suddenly, she was much more accommodating.

Next, the car. Fabian had been driving my car that Dad was helping pay for. Dad made another call, this time to our insurance agent. He removed Fabian from my policy, effective immediately. Then he logged into his Progressive app and changed the payment information so it would come from my account instead of his. He’d still help me with the cost, he explained. But the account needed to be fully in my name.

While Dad worked on the financial stuff, Mom helped me make a list of everything in the apartment that belonged to Fabian. It wasn’t much. Some clothes, his gaming setup, toiletries. Most of the furniture and kitchen wear were mine or things we’d bought together with money from my parents.

I remembered something else. Fabian’s sister, Catalina, worked for my dad’s company. She’d been hired about six months ago, right after Fabian had casually mentioned to my dad that his sister was looking for a new opportunity. Dad had interviewed her as a favor to me and given her a position.

I hesitated to bring it up. It felt petty somehow, but Mom noticed me typing and deleting something on my laptop. When I finally told them about Catalina, Dad’s expression hardened. He picked up his phone again.

Dad didn’t fire her on the spot. He’s not that kind of person. But he did send an email to HR asking them to review Catalina’s position as part of an upcoming restructuring. He made it clear that while she shouldn’t be fired without cause, her position should be considered non-essential if cuts needed to be made. It sounds cold when I write it out like that, but tbh, Catalina had been riding on her connection to me and Dad. She was constantly late, took extra long lunches, and was mediocre at her job at best. The only reason she hadn’t been put on a performance plan already was because of Fabian.

Around midnight, we moved on to the last item: the confrontation. Dad wanted to call Fabian’s parents right then, but Mom suggested we wait until morning. I agreed. I was exhausted, and we all needed to be clear-headed for that conversation. Dad reluctantly agreed, but insisted on staying the night.

Mom went home to get them overnight bags while Dad helped me change the locks. Thankfully, our building has those electronic keypad locks, so all we had to do was reset the code through the apartment’s app. I felt a weight lift as we deleted Fabian’s access.

I slept on the couch that night, giving my parents the bedroom. I didn’t want to sleep in the bed Fabian and I had shared.

Around 3:00 a.m., my phone started blowing up with texts.

“Dark code isn’t working.”

“Ellaner, WTF, are you serious right now?”

“Let me in.”

“It’s freezing.”

“Ellaner, answer your phone.”

I put my phone on silent and turned it face down on the coffee table. For the first time in a week, I slept deeply.

In the morning, Dad made pancakes like it was just another Saturday. We ate at the kitchen table, checking our phones and making small talk about the weather. It felt surreal, like we were play acting at normaly.

Fabian had finally stopped texting around 5:00 a.m. My guess was he crashed at a friend’s place.

Around 10:00, Dad said it was time to call Fabian’s parents. I felt my stomach clench again. Mom squeezed my shoulder and reminded me that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t the one who needed to feel ashamed.

Dad set up his phone for a FaceTime call. After three rings, Lydia’s face appeared on screen. She looked confused at first, then forced a bright smile when she recognized us. I could see Arthur in the background reading a newspaper. Lydia’s hello was cheerful until she saw our expressions. She called Arthur over, her smile faltering. He joined her on screen, frowning slightly.

Dad didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He simply asked if they wanted to hear something interesting, then played the recording.

Watching their faces change as they listened to their own voices was something else. Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth. Arthur’s frown deepened. Neither of them looked surprised by what Fabian was saying, only that they had been caught saying it.

When the recording ended, Lydia immediately started making excuses.

“It was just talk,” she insisted. “Fabian didn’t mean any of it. They were just joking around.”

Arthur tried to look stern and disappointed like he was also hearing this for the first time.

Dad let them ramble for about 30 seconds before he cut them off. He laid out exactly what was happening. Fabian was being removed from the apartment lease. His access to my car was revoked. All financial support was ending immediately. Catalina’s position at the company was under review.

Lydia’s face crumpled. She turned to me all teeyed, begging me to reconsider. Didn’t I know how much Fabian loved me? Weren’t we planning a future together? Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.

I just stared back at her. The woman who had smiled to my face while laughing behind my back. Who had told her son not to get me pregnant because it would tie him to my family. Who had sat at my table and eaten my food while thinking I wasn’t good enough for her son.

Mom leaned into the frame. Then she told Lydia to close her mouth. No one was smiling now, she said. Goodbye. Dad ended the call before they could respond.

The three of us sat in silence for a moment. Then Dad’s phone buzzed with a text from Fabian. Where was I? Why couldn’t he get into the apartment? What the hell was going on?

Dad typed out a response, showed it to me for approval, then sent it.

“Ellaner knows everything. Your things will be packed and left with the building manager. Don’t contact her again.”

We spent the next few hours packing up Fabian’s stuff. It was strange handling his things, knowing what I knew now. His favorite hoodie that I used to sleep in when he was away, the coffee mug I bought him for Christmas, the framed photo of us from last summer’s beach trip. All of it felt contaminated somehow.

Mom and I had just finished taping up the last box when we heard shouting from outside. I looked out my second floor window to see Fabian on the front steps of the building, buzzing my apartment over and over. He looked like hell. Rumpled clothes, messy hair, red-faced with anger or alcohol or both.

Dad went to the window and looked down. When Fabian spotted him, he started yelling louder. What right did Dad have to lock him out? This was his home, too. Dad just shook his head and closed the blinds.

The buzzing continued for almost 20 minutes. Then it stopped. I peered through the blinds and saw Fabian sitting on the steps, head in his hands. Part of me, a small stupid part, felt bad for him. But then I remembered.

“She’s convenient.”

“Her dad’s money keeps me comfortable.”

“I’ll find someone worth showing off.”

Around 4 p.m., Dad loaded Fabian’s boxes into his car and took them to the building manager’s office as we’d arranged. Mom and I stayed in the apartment, jumping at every noise. We ordered pizza for dinner, but barely ate. The reality of what was happening had finally hit me. Two years of my life had been a lie.

Just after 8, the buzzer rang again. I checked the security camera feed on my phone. Fabian was back, looking even worse than before.

This time I decided to answer the intercom. His voice was slurred as he begged me to let him up. We needed to talk, he insisted. There had been a misunderstanding.

I didn’t respond right away, and he got angrier. Did I really trust my parents more than him? Was I that much of a daddy’s girl? Was I seriously throwing away two years over one stupid conversation?

I took a deep breath and finally spoke. I told him he’d called me convenient. That he’d plan to use me and then leave me for someone worth showing off. That he and his parents had laughed about it together.

There was a long silence. Then his voice changed completely. He sounded sober suddenly and calculated. He asked if I’d been recording him. If I knew that was illegal in our state without consent. If I understood I could get in trouble for that.

Dad took the phone from me. Then he told Fabian very clearly that if he didn’t leave immediately, we would call the police. That we had security footage of him harassing me. That he had exactly ten minutes to get off the property.

Fabian started shouting again, but Dad ended the call.

Mom called the building security while Dad and I watched the camera feed. After a few minutes, two security guards approached Fabian. There was some arguing, some gesturing, but eventually they escorted him off the property.

We spent that night jumping at every sound. Dad slept on the couch while Mom stayed with me in my room. I kept checking the security feed, half expecting to see Fabian trying to break in, but the night passed quietly.

In the morning, we finalized the new lease at the property management office. The car insurance was updated. My bank accounts were secured. I changed all my passwords and removed Fabian from my Netflix, Spotify, and Amazon accounts. It was like erasing him from my digital life, one login at a time.

The property manager confirmed that Fabian had picked up his boxes. The security team had been notified not to allow him into the building without my explicit permission.

My parents helped me rearrange the furniture, as if changing the layout could somehow erase the memory of him in that space. They stayed one more night and then had to get back to their own lives. Mom hugged me for a long time at the door. Dad looked like he wanted to say something profound, but in the end just kissed my forehead and told me to call them anytime, day or night.

And then I was alone. Really alone. For the first time in almost two years.

The apartment felt too big, too quiet. I wandered from room to room, touching things, trying to reclaim my space. I ordered takeout and ate it on the floor of the living room because sitting at the kitchen table felt too normal, too much like before.

My phone buzzed around midnight. A text from a number I didn’t recognize.

“This isn’t over. You’ve made a huge mistake.”

I knew it was Fabian. I didn’t respond, just blocked the number and turned off my phone. I lay awake until dawn, listening for footsteps that never came.

Last update. Okay, so it’s been exactly two weeks since everything blew up. And honestly, I’m exhausted. The constant texts from unknown numbers, the voicemails, the Instagram messages from fake accounts. It’s like dealing with a ghost that refuses to leave. I woke up this morning to 17—17—missed calls from different numbers between 2 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. I’ve blocked so many numbers at this point that my block list is longer than my contact list. Fabian clearly keeps using those temporary number apps or borrowing phones from friends.

At first, I listened to the voicemails thinking maybe he’d apologize in a way that felt genuine, but they just kept getting worse. The first few were what you’d expect. He was sorry. He didn’t mean it. He was just trying to impress his parents. Blah blah blah. Then they started getting angry. How could I do this to him? Did I know how much this was hurting him? By day four, they turned manipulative. Remember that time he took care of me when I had the flu? Remember our trip to the beach?

Now they bounce between threatening and pathetically sad. Yesterday’s gem. I’ve ruined his life. His sister lost her job because of me. His parents are disappointed in him. And he’s practically homeless. Then not 20 minutes later, he misses me so much. He can’t sleep. He just wants to talk.

What’s weirder is that I still catch myself almost responding. Like my thumb hovers over the keyboard and I have to physically put my phone down. Two years is a long time. You know, there are moments when I miss the person I thought he was before I knew the truth. But then I play the recording again.

“Her dad’s money keeps me comfortable.”

“I’ll find someone worth showing off.”

“Just don’t get her pregnant.”

My friend Julia came over yesterday. She’s been checking on me every couple days, which I appreciate more than I can say. We were scrolling through TikTok on my couch when my phone buzzed with a text from another unknown number. I ignored it, but she asked what was going on. I hadn’t told any of our mutual friends the full story yet. I just said Fabian and I broke up and it was messy.

But sitting there with Julia, I decided to just show her the recording. I watched her face change as she listened. Confusion, then shock, then this cold anger I’d never seen on her before. When it finished, she was quiet for a long time. Then she told me something that made my stomach drop.

Fabian had texted her three days ago asking if she’d seen me, saying he was worried because I was acting unstable and had made up some crazy story about him. She’d been vague in her response because she wasn’t sure what was happening, but now she understood. She pulled out her phone and showed me the thread.

It was worse than I thought. He told her I was having some kind of breakdown, that my parents were enabling it, and that he was desperate to help me, but couldn’t reach me. He even suggested maybe they should stage some kind of intervention.

I felt physically ill reading it. He was trying to gaslight my friends to make me sound crazy.

Julia immediately started texting other people in our circle to warn them. While she was doing that, I checked my email and found messages from him there, too, dating back several days. I’d been so focused on blocking him on my phone that I hadn’t thought to check my email. Some of the emails had attachments, photos of us together, screenshots of old loving texts I’d sent him, even a video from last Christmas where I’m opening the necklace he got me and looking so happy.

It felt like emotional blackmail, like he was saying, “Look how good we were together. Look what you’re throwing away.”

I deleted all of them and updated my email filters to send anything from him straight to trash.

That night after Julia left, I had trouble sleeping. Every noise made me jump. I kept checking that my door was locked. Around 2:00 a.m., I started scrolling through old texts between us, looking for signs I’d missed. There were so many comments about my dad’s business, questions about my trust fund, suggestions that I ask my parents for things he wanted. How had I been so blind?

The next morning, I woke up to knocking, not on my apartment door, but on my neighbor’s. I peeked through my peepphole and saw Fabian standing there looking surprisingly put together in a button-down shirt I’d bought him for his birthday. He was holding coffee and a bag from that bakery I love.

My neighbor Orlando opened his door, looking confused. I couldn’t hear everything, but Fabian was saying something about surprising me, but he’d forgotten his key. Thankfully, Orlando is suspicious by nature. He asked why Fabian didn’t just call me. I heard Fabian stammer something about wanting it to be a surprise. Orlando said he’d check with me first and closed his door.

A minute later, my phone buzzed with a text from Orlando asking if he should let some guy named Fabian in. I texted back a quick absolutely not with a brief explanation that we’d broken up and he wasn’t welcome. Orlando replied with a thumbs up. I watched through the peepphole as Orlando went back out and firmly told Fabian I didn’t want to see him.

Fabian’s face changed. That fake pleasant smile dropped instantly. He tried to argue, his voice getting louder. Orlando, who’s like 6’4 and works out religiously, just crossed his arms and stared down at Fabian until he finally gave up and left.

I texted Orlando a thank you with about 15 exclamation points. He responded that Fabian gave him bad vibes and to let him know if I needed anything. Note to self, bake Orlando some cookies as a proper thank you.

That afternoon, I was on a Zoom call for work when my buzzer rang. The building has a camera system, so I checked the feed on my phone. It was Lydia, Fabian’s mom, standing there with what looked like a gift basket. I ignored it. Five minutes later, it rang again and again and again.

Eventually, I pressed the talk button and asked what she wanted. She sounded sickeningly sweet as she said she just wanted to talk woman to woman, that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, that Fabian was devastated. Couldn’t I give him a chance to explain?

I told her that I’d heard everything I needed to hear on that recording. She immediately switched tactics, her voice hardening as she asked if I understood that recording people without consent was illegal in our state, that they could press charges if they wanted to.

I almost laughed. I told her to go ahead and try. The recording was made in their house during a dinner they had invited me to. I hadn’t shared it publicly or used it for blackmail. I’d simply played it for my parents and a couple close friends to explain why I was ending the relationship.

Then I hung up and watched through the security feed as she stood there for another ten minutes before finally leaving the gift basket by the door and walking away. The building manager texted me later to say they’d removed an abandoned package from my doorway. I thanked them and asked them to throw it away.

That evening, my dad called to check in. He tries to sound casual, but I can tell he’s worried. He mentioned that Fabian had shown up at his office that day, asking to speak with him. Security had escorted him out, but not before he made a scene in the lobby, shouting that my dad had ruined his life and turned me against him.

I felt terrible. This was affecting my dad’s business now, but he assured me it wasn’t a big deal, that security had handled it, and that I shouldn’t worry. Still, I could hear the tension in his voice. This was escalating in ways none of us had expected.

The next day, Saturday, I decided to get out of the apartment. I’d been basically hiding inside for days, and I needed fresh air. I went to this little coffee shop about three blocks away, found a corner table, and just sat with my book, trying to feel normal for an hour.

I was halfway through my latte when I got that feeling. You know, the one where you just know someone’s watching you. I looked up and saw Catalina, Fabian’s sister, standing by the counter staring at me. Our eyes met, and for a second, I thought she might come over and make a scene. Instead, she just gave me this cold look and walked out.

I stayed another 15 minutes, but my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t focus on my book. When I finally left, I took a different route home, constantly looking over my shoulder. It felt ridiculous, like I was the wrong party here, but I still felt like I was the one who had to hide.

When I got back to my apartment, my mom was waiting in the lobby. She’d brought groceries and dinner, saying she just wanted to check on me in person. We spent the evening watching Netflix and not talking about Fabian, which was exactly what I needed. She stayed over, sleeping on the couch.

Around midnight, my phone started blowing up again. More unknown numbers, more texts varying between apologetic and angry. I silenced it and tried to sleep.

In the morning, Mom and I were having coffee when someone started pounding on my door. Not knocking, pounding like they were trying to break it down. I checked the peepphole and saw Fabian looking disheveled and angry. He was shouting my name, demanding I open the door, saying he knew I was in there.

My mom immediately called building security while I stood frozen, watching him through the peepphole. He started kicking the door, each thud making me jump. I found my voice and told him to leave, that security was on the way. He laughed, actually laughed, and said he just wanted to talk, that if I just listened to him for five minutes, he could explain everything.

I asked what there was to explain. Did he deny saying those things? There was a pause, then more pounding. He wasn’t denying it. He was just angry he’d been caught.

Security arrived a few minutes later. Two guys who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. I could hear them telling Fabian he needed to leave. There was some scuffling in the hallway, raised voices. My mom and I stood in the kitchen, not speaking, just listening. Finally, it went quiet.

My phone buzzed with a text from the security team saying they’d removed him from the building and called the police because he’d become physical. Apparently, he’d shoved one of the guards when they tried to escort him out.

Mom and I just looked at each other. This was getting dangerous.

She suggested I come stay with them for a while, but that felt like letting him win somehow. This was my home. I didn’t want to be chased out of it.

Instead, I finally did what I should have done days ago. I filed for a restraining order. The process was surprisingly straightforward. I had the recording, security footage of multiple incidents, text messages, emails, and witnesses.

Mom stayed another night and Dad came over the next day to install one of those Ring doorbell cameras as extra security. They were worried, and honestly, so was I. This wasn’t the Fabian I thought I knew. Or maybe it was, and I just hadn’t seen it before.

Four days passed quietly. No texts, no calls, no unexpected visitors. I started to relax a little, to feel like maybe it was over. I went to work, stopped at the grocery store on the way home. Normal everyday things. I even went to dinner with Julia and some other friends, though I was careful not to post anything on social media about where we were going.

Then yesterday, I came home to find a manila envelope that had been slipped under my door. No name, no address, just a blank envelope. Inside was a handwritten letter from Fabian, twelve pages long, detailing everything he claimed to love about me, every memory he cherished, every plan he’d had for our future.

The last page was different. The handwriting got messier, more aggressive. He wrote that if he couldn’t have me, he’d make sure no one would want me, that he had videos of me that would be embarrassing if they got out, that he knew things about my dad’s business that could cause problems.

I felt sick reading it. There were no compromising videos. We’d never made any, but the threat itself was violating, and whatever he thought he knew about my dad’s business was probably either made up or misunderstood.

Still, the fact that he’d resort to threats… I called my dad, then the police. They took the letter as evidence of a restraining order violation. The officer who came seemed bored, like this was routine, but she dutifully took my statement and said they’d look into it. I wasn’t confident much would happen.

Around 3:00 a.m., I heard a noise from my balcony. My apartment is on the second floor, and the balcony connects to a fire escape. I froze, listening. Another sound, like someone testing the sliding door.

I called 911 whispering into the phone. The dispatcher told me to lock myself in the bathroom while officers responded. I grabbed my phone and keys and did as she said, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Through the bathroom door, I heard my sliding door open, footsteps in my living room, someone calling my name softly.

Fabian.

I don’t remember much of what happened next. The police arrived quickly. I heard shouting, a crash like furniture being knocked over. When they finally knocked on the bathroom door, telling me it was safe to come out, I was shaking so badly I could hardly stand.

Fabian had been arrested for breaking and entering, violating the restraining order, and resisting arrest. One of the officers told me he appeared to be intoxicated and had become combative when they tried to handcuff him. He’d knocked over my coffee table, breaking the glass top, and several framed photos.

I spent the rest of the night at my parents house.

In the morning, I received a call that Fabian had been released on bail, but was ordered to wear an ankle monitor and stay at least 500 ft away from me, my apartment, and my workplace. If he violated these terms, he’d be immediately arrested again.

After that call, I sat in my childhood bedroom and finally broke down. Not delicate tears, but ugly gasping sobs that left me exhausted. Mom came in and just held me while I cried.

When I finally calmed down, Mom asked what I wanted to do next. Did I want to move to a new apartment? Did I want to press additional charges? I didn’t have answers. I still don’t. I’m writing this from my parents guest room, surrounded by childhood stuffed animals and high school trophies. I feel simultaneously like a scared little girl and an angry woman who’s been pushed too far.

The police called this afternoon to say Fabian violated the terms of his release by removing his ankle monitor. They’re looking for him, but so far haven’t located him. They advised me to stay somewhere he wouldn’t think to look just as a precaution.

So, that’s where things stand right now. I’m hiding in my parents house while the police search for my ex-boyfriend who broke into my apartment after threatening to release non-existent videos of me. All because I discovered he was using me for my dad’s money.

I keep thinking about that moment in the kitchen, listening to him laugh about how convenient I was. How I just cut the pie and smiled and served dessert like nothing was wrong. I wish I’d confronted him then and there. I wish I’d thrown the pie in his face and walked out. I wish I’d never met him at all.

But it’s too late for wishes now. Now I just need to figure out what happens.