When I first met Andrew, he seemed almost perfect — charming, smart, and successful. We’d only been dating three months, but he quickly became someone special. Little did I know how quickly everything would unravel.
We met in an unusual way. I was an intern at a hospital when he came in with a hand injury from a silly fall at work. I cleaned and stitched him up — and somehow, that was enough for him to ask for my number.
I was in medical school, barely managing bills while chasing my dream of becoming a doctor. He, on the other hand, worked in tech making six figures after choosing coding over his parents’ expectations of medicine. That contrast drew us together, or so I thought.
From the start, I insisted we split the cost of dates. Not because I had extra money, but because I didn’t want anyone to think I was with him for his wealth. He laughed it off. “You’re different,” he said. Now I see how that should’ve been a warning sign.
Then came Valentine’s Day. A week earlier, Andrew promised something special. I worried about expenses — I had student debts and a tight budget — but he insisted I trust him.
The night started in a luxury Uber and only got pricier from there. He took me to an upscale restaurant without prices on the menu and confidently ordered the finest items — lobster, oysters, truffles, and expensive wine. I barely ate a thing as discomfort grew in my chest.
When the bill arrived — $3,180 — I froze. Before I could say anything, he reached for his phone, flipped the camera toward me, and said with a grin:
“So, babe… we’re splitting this, right?”
My heart sank. I reminded him that he promised to cover the night. His reply was worse.
“Well, you ate, didn’t you?”
Then, in front of everyone, he turned the camera on himself and began taunting me about my career and finances — calling me someone who “couldn’t afford her own dinner” and joking about what his life would have looked like if he hadn’t rebelled against his parents.
I was stunned. Humiliated. My worst nightmare was happening in real time — recorded, broadcast, and judged by everyone around us. That humiliation broke something inside me. I stood up, ignored his calls as I left the restaurant and flagged a taxi in tears.
Andrew later texted claiming it was a joke — meant to impress his parents — asking for forgiveness. But the damage was done. I realized I had never truly known this man at all. I blocked his number and spent the night wrestling with betrayal and embarrassment.
The next day, he came to my door, persistent and unbothered by the damage he caused. I told him one final thing before shutting the door for good:
“If you come near me again, I’ll file a restraining order.”
That was the end. I walked away with a heavy heart — but also a clearer sense of self-worth. Some things are simply not worth enduring, no matter how charming they first appear.
