He laughed in my face, arm draped over the couch like a king. “You’ll never be good enough for me,” he said—in front of his friends. My stomach turned, but I didn’t cry. I looked him dead in the eye and whispered, “You’re right.” Then I stood up, grabbed my keys, and walked out without another word. An hour later, my phone started buzzing—his friends were texting me. What they told me he said after I left? That’s when everything flipped.
He liked an audience. That should’ve been my first warning. It was a Friday night at Tyler’s townhouse—beer bottles on the counter, a game on mute, his friends spread across the living room like it was their clubhouse. I’d come straight from work, still in my blazer, still tired, still trying to be the “easy”…
