After seeing him on Christmas Eve, kissing another woman on the day we should’ve been in Rome together — I knew I had to let him go. I still wore his necklace, still had every single memory of us scattered across my flat, and I was still waiting for the “talk.” But after seeing that, waiting no longer made sense. What I needed now was my stuff back.
I couldn’t stand the thought of him having my things while he moved on. It wasn’t just about my keys or my stuff. It was about seeing him kiss her in the middle of dinner, a move he’d always done with me on every single date from the beginning. I had thought it was special, just for me. That thought sickened me more than anything.
My last text to him after that night was simple:
Hey, forget what I said. No need to talk anymore. I just want my things from your place and my keys. You have 48 hours to get them back to me.
He ignored it. Another day passed. Nothing. So I called. He didn’t pick up. Then I texted again.
Hey, I’m coming over to your flat to get my stuff. My call was a courtesy. I’ll be there. If you’re not home, I’ll keep coming until I get my things back. I don’t know what you are tying to do, but just give me my stuff and let me go.
That finally got a response. The first time I’d heard from him since the night he broke my heart. And, of course, he texted back right away.
I’ll get you your stuff back. You know I’m better than that. I can bring it in two days. But if you need it sooner, I’ll bring it around noon tomorrow.
Noon tomorrow. And no, you are not better than that. Trust me, you are nothing after all this.
Ok, tomorrow at noon.
Do you want me to list everything so you don’t forget? Don’t mix it up with the new girl’s stuff.
He sent something like, “Oh, this is nice…” But I didn’t care. The next day, I packed up his things. I threw in a letter I wrote him, knowing it was more for me than for him. Then I waited.
When I opened the door, it was the first time I’d seen his face since that night. The man I once opened this door and gave the biggest hug to immediately after was just standing there. Silent. I still wanted that hug so badly despite him being now a stranger. He still had the face and body of the man I still loved, and I needed the man I thought he was to hug me even though I knew he didn’t exist.
He handed me four bags of my things. I handed him a bag of his. And a trash bag — full of every memory of us. Everything I had clung to, was now gone. It seemed fair since he thrashed the relationship, he could also trash every memory if he wanted to.
“Keys?” I asked. He hesitated before handing them over. His eyes avoided mine. For the first time, he looked so small. He had once been everything to me. Now, he looked ashamed, and there was nothing left to say. He let go of the keys, and I softly said, “Thank you,” holding myself back from breaking. I had promised myself I wouldn’t let him see me cry again. I had fallen apart enough times in front of him. Not again.
“If anything’s missing, let me know,” he muttered.
“Okay,” I replied.
He took a step back, lingering like he wanted to say something. But I wasn’t going to make it easier for him. I just looked at him until I finally pushed the door closed.
After a while, I went through my things. I cried as I pulled out each item, remembering exactly where it had been in his flat. But then I realized something: my favorite sleep shirt — the one that said “I want the fairytale” from Pretty Woman — and my hair straightener was missing. Plus, I found something in the bag that was a gift I had given him. Why did he include that? I didn’t want to see him again, but I wasn’t going to let the next girl use my things.
I messaged him. “You forgot my shirt and the straightener.”
“I’ll bring them at 6:30,” he replied.
And he did. This time, when I opened the door, he looked even smaller. His eyes were heavier. He handed me the last of my stuff and stood there like he wanted to say something.
I started closing the door, but his mouth moved like he was about to speak. “Look, if you want to say something, just say it. But stop looking at me like that.”
“I didn’t cheat on you,” he mumbled, barely audible.
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t cheat… on you.”
“I saw you. Why are you lying to me?”
“We were broken up.”
“I didn’t know that. I knew we might be, but I was still wearing your initial necklace. I still had your picture on my phone. I was waiting for the talk, the one you said we’d have when you were ready. I asked you if we were over, and you said we’d talk…”
“I thought we were broken up. I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter. Even if you didn’t cheat during the relationship, you still cheated my heart. Two weeks it took you… Watching you kiss her like you kissed me, in the middle of dinner, the most special thing from our relationship for me… Do you understand the image I have to live with? Try…”
“It didn’t mean anything. She was nothing. I barely know her…”
“To be honest, I am not sure if I prefer if you met her while you were with me and she was something because if you just met her and she was nothing, it means every single night I thought was special, every time you kissed me that way was nothing too… because you are so easily able to have a night like we had and kiss anyone the way you kissed me…”
He stayed silent, looking at me with those heavy eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said.
“Sorry, you did it? Or sorry I found out?”
More silence.
“I read your letter,” he said. “It… it was hard to read.”
“Well, imagine writing it.”
“There are things I want to say…”
“Then say them. Please.”
“Not now. You’re upset. We can talk soon.”
“No. You’re not doing this again. You’re not making me wait for a talk again. This is as calm as I can be about it. If you want to talk, we can talk now. Or you can have it this week, but I won’t wait any longer.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“I never meant to hurt you…”
“But you did.”
“I thought we were broken up.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You did hurt me. More than anyone ever has in a way I never expected from you. You blindsided me… And you could have easily not, at least not like this… All I did was love you.”
I closed the door, feeling a sense of relief. Not because everything made sense but because I finally said what I needed to, and for the first time, I saw some recognition in his eyes. It wasn’t closure. But it was enough to stop wondering what went wrong. I had spent so long trying to understand how someone I loved could stop caring so fast, but now I realized his avoidance was his guilt, not indifference.
It still hurt, but looking back from the future now, I realized it wasn’t me still trying to hold onto him and hope for ‘the talk’. It was me holding on to the love I still wanted to give, all the love I had and still have inside of me that I know I want to give to the right person. It was me holding on in hopes that my capacity to love wouldn’t vanish just because he did.
In time, I realized the love I feared losing wasn’t tied to him. It was mine, something I needed to direct inward first. The hardest lesson in all of this wasn’t about losing him; it was learning that moving too fast in an exciting new relationship can blind you to the cracks when a relationship doesn’t have a steady foundation. Love and relationships aren’t meant to be rushed, and I don’t mean this in a time frame way, as I think you can build an amazing foundation in a short time, too, if both people are doing the work. I mean it internally between two people. It’s meant to be built with care, dedication, and value and with someone willing to learn and grow with you.
The best advice I can give on this article is to slow down because if you don’t, you may end up like I did… Blindsided. But when you do, you’ll be ready with wide-open eyes and an open heart for the kind of love that’s meant to last.
The Letter referred to in this article: The Letter I Did Give to My Ex
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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