"Move. He's about to sit here." She whispered, pushing me aside when her ex walked in. So, I got up without a word. Three days later, she was begging me to come back after he asked her to leave before breakfast.
I never thought I'd be the guy posting here. I'm not much of a writer, and honestly, I spent years believing these nightmare relationships stories only happen to other people. The dramatic ones, the ones who ignore red flags. I wasn't ignoring anything. I thought I was happy.
Jenna and I had been together for just over 2 years. We met through mutual friends at a house party. She walked up to me while I was awkwardly hovering near the snack table and said, "You look like you'd rather be anywhere else." I laughed, admitted she was right, and we talked for 3 hours. She was magnetic back then.
Quick to smile, sharp sense of humor. The kind of person who could make a boring Tuesday feel like an event. The first year was genuinely good. She had her flaws, who doesn't? But I believed we were building something solid.
I helped her move out of a terrible apartment with a landlord who refused to fix the heat. I stayed up until 2:00 a.m. helping her rehearse for a job interview that she ended up nailing. I bought concert tickets for her favorite band 6 months in advance because I knew she'd cry when she saw them live. She did cry. I held her hand the whole show.
I'm not saying any of this to paint myself as a saint. I'm saying it because I want you to understand that I was all in. I wasn't half invested. I wasn't keeping one eye on the exit. I was the guy who showed up.
Around the 6-month mark, I started hearing about Mark. Mark was her ex. Not just any ex, the ex. The one before me. The one she dated for 3 years.
The one who apparently broke her heart into pieces when when left. I heard his name in passing comments at first. Mark used to hate this restaurant. Mark always said I talked too fast. Mark and I drove through this neighborhood once.
It bothered me, but I told myself it was normal. People have histories. People carry baggage. I wasn't going to be the insecure boyfriend who freaked out over a name. So, I let it slide.
And then I let it slide again. And again. By the second year, Mark's name had faded somewhat. She mentioned him less. I assumed, stupidly, I now realize, that she had finally put him behind her.
We talked about moving in together. I started looking at bigger apartments. She said she loved the idea. She said she loved me. I believed her.
The Sunday it all fell apart was unseasonably warm. Blue sky, light breeze, the kind of morning that makes you feel optimistic for no good reason. Jenna suggested brunch at this cafe downtown. A trendy spot with exposed brick walls and overpriced avocado toast. She'd been distant all week, distracted and short-tempered, but I figured she was stressed about work.