His face turned a deep shade of red. “You can’t do that!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “That’s our money!”
“Correction: It was my money too.
But now it’s just mine.” I stood, grabbing my keys off the counter. “Good luck saving for ‘our future,’ Jake. Or should I say your future?
Because I’m not part of it anymore.”
As I started toward the door, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, and his face paled. Anna.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Better answer that,” I said, pulling the door open. “She seems high-maintenance. I’m sure she’ll love hearing why her fancy downtown apartment isn’t happening.”
Jake started sputtering something, but I didn’t wait to hear it.
I walked out, letting the door slam behind me, leaving Jake and his mess of life behind for good.
Two weeks later, I was sipping wine on the balcony of my cozy new apartment, enjoying the quiet that came with living alone. The chaos of the last month already felt like a distant memory.
I’d heard through mutual friends that Jake was couch-surfing, frantically trying to save enough for a deposit on a new place. Apparently, Anna dumped him the second she realized his “savings” were gone.
Poetic justice, if you ask me.
A text pinged on my phone. It was from one of those mutual friends: “Jake’s crashing at Tom’s. He’s been telling everyone you ruined his life.
Thought you’d want to know.”
I laughed out loud, setting the phone down. For the first time in years, I felt free—free from his selfishness, his manipulation, and his so-called “future.”
Lifting my glass, I whispered to myself with a smile, “Here’s to my future, Jake. You’re not in it.”
🤔🤔🤔
Source: amomama
