She Texted: “I Think Maybe We Should Break Up.” I Replied….
She texted, “I think maybe we need to break up.” I surprised her by replying, “I agree. Your stuff will be on your porch in an hour.” Her follow-up text was a scrambled panic of, “Wait, I was joking.” But I wasn’t. I, 31, male, was sitting at my desk reviewing quarterly reports when the text came through. Madison, 28, had been playing these games for months, but this was the finale she didn’t see coming.
been thinking. I think maybe we need to break up. This isn’t working anymore. Stared at it for maybe 30 seconds. Not shocked, not hurt, just relieved. She’d been pulling this manipulation tactic every few weeks. Usually after not getting her way about something. Last time was because I couldn’t take a day off work for her friend’s random Wednesday pool party.
But this time, this time I was done playing. Me, I agree. Your stuff will be on the porch in an hour. The typing bubbles appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then a flood. Wait, what? I was joking. Babe, I was just upset. Call me. This isn’t funny. I was testing you. Testing me. There it was. The admission.
Put my phone on silent and got to work. Not the quarterly reports, the packing. 2 years of her gradually moving in without ever officially living here. Time to reverse that process. Started with the bathroom. Her 17 different shampoos. Why? Face masks. That expensive straightener she had to have.
The medicine cabinet looked empty without her stuff. Good. Bedroom. Next. Clothes. She left for convenience. The jewelry box on my dresser. Those decorative pillows that serve no purpose except making it harder to sleep. The fake plant she insisted made the room pop. Living room. Her yoga mat. The books she never read but displayed for aesthetics.
The blanket that matched the vibe but felt like sandpaper. The framed photo of us from her cousin’s wedding. She looked great. I looked trapped. Accurate kitchen. Her specialty coffee pods. The juicer used exactly twice. Fancy wine glasses for the wine she only drank for Instagram stories. The air fryer she begged for. Used once then complained it took up too much counter space. 45 minutes.
Six boxes and three garbage bags. Neat, organized, ready for pickup. Phone was nuclear. 47 missed calls. Lost count of texts. Voicemails I’d check later for entertainment value. Placed everything on the porch. Sent a photo. Me. Everything’s outside. Please collect within 2 hours or it goes to the curb for donation pickup. You can’t do this. I pay rent.
She didn’t. She’d chip in for groceries occasionally. By occasionally, I mean twice in 6 months. I’m coming over. We’re talking about this. You’re overreacting. It was a joke. Joke, right? Like when she jokingly threatened to burn my vintage band tees because I went to my brother’s bachelor party instead of her work thing.
Or when she jokingly posted on Facebook that she was single after I couldn’t afford the Tiffany bracelet she wanted. Hilarious. 20 minutes later, her car screeched into my driveway. She was out before it fully stopped. Mascara already running. Madison banging on door. Open up. This is insane. Through the doorbell camera.
Your stuff’s on the porch. Please take it and go. I’m not leaving until we talk. Then I’ll call the police for trespassing. Your choice. She grabbed the first box and threw it at my door. Class act. Then sat on my porch steps and called reinforcements. speaker phone because of course. Her mom.
Sweetie, what’s happening? Mom, he’s throwing me out over a text. Her mom. What did the text say? Madison. Pause. I maybe suggested we break up, but I was kidding. Even through the phone, the silence was deafening. Her mom. Madison. Grace. You didn’t. It was a test to see if he’d fight for me. Her mom. Heavy sigh. Come home. We talk. Plot twist.
Her mom was on my side. Love that for me. But Madison wasn’t done. Oh no, this was just act one of the entitlement show. Update one. Three days later, Madison’s extinction burst was something to behold. Day one was denial. Day two was anger. Day three was bargaining with a side of stalking.
First, she tried the classic I’m pregnant move. Text arrived at 2:00 a.m. Madison, we need to talk. I’m late. Late for what? My period. I might be pregnant. Me? Interesting. You’ve been on birth control for years. Also, we haven’t been intimate in 3 weeks because you said I was emotionally unavailable. Birth control fails. Sure, take a test.
Let me know if positive. We’ll handle it through lawyers. You’re seriously going to make me do this alone. You broke up with me, remember? Your decision. Radio silence. Shocker. No pregnancy. Then came the social media assault. posted a crying selfie with, “When you give someone two years of your life and they throw you out like trash over a misunderstanding.
” Her friends swarmed the comments. Men are trash. You deserve better, queen. His loss, babe. But some mutual friends knew the real story. My buddy Carlos commented, “Didn’t you break up with him, though?” Madisondeleted the post within an hour. Next, she tried the possession game. Claimed I had things of hers I didn’t return.
Her grandmother’s ring never existed. A laptop charger. It was mine. Sentimental items. Be specific or shut up. Money I owed her for what? Sent one text. Everything you left here was on the porch. You threw a box at my door then left with it all. I have doorbell footage. Stop. Then she escalated to workplace drama.
Yeah, she went there, called my office pretending to be from my doctor’s office about urgent test results. Receptionist put her through to my cell. Recognized her voice immediately. Me impersonating medical staff is illegal. Madison, I needed to talk to you. This is harassment. Next contact goes through lawyers. You can’t threaten me.
I know your secrets. What secrets? That you? That you? Your browser history? My football highlights and cooking videos. Terrifying. She hung up, but the peak entitlement came when she showed up at my gym. 6:00 a.m. I’m midbench press when I see her talking to the front desk, pointing at me. Gym staff. Sir, this woman says she’s your girlfriend and lost her key card.
Ex-girlfriend: We broke up 4 days ago. She’s not authorized. Babe, don’t be like this. Me. She texted me breaking up. I agreed. Now she’s following me. Security got involved. She was escorted out. Membership flagged. She screamed about me, ruining her fitness journey. Girl hadn’t been to the gym once in two years of membership.
I paid for that afternoon. Got a call from her friend Britney. Britney, you need to take Madison back. Me? Why? She’s sleeping on my couch and crying constantly. It’s been 3 days. Sounds like a you problem. She made a mistake. Everyone tests their relationships. Healthy people don’t. She’s threatening to do something dramatic.
Like what? She bought a plane ticket to her ex’s city. Cool. Hope they’re happy. You’re heartless. I’m single by her choice. The ex-boyfriend move was pure manipulation. She wanted me to panic, beg her not to go fight for her. Instead, I blocked her on everything and went about my life. Update two. Two weeks later, Madison’s spiral accelerated when her tactics weren’t working.
The ex-boyfriend trip, total fabrication. She actually went to her aunt’s house two towns over and posted photos pretending to be in another state. Her cousin demed me the truth because even her family was tired of the drama. But she wasn’t done. Oh no. She hired a life coach, her friend who took an online course to help her manifest me back.
This coach, Serena, actually contacted me on LinkedIn. LinkedIn. Serena. Hi. I’m working with someone from your past to clear negative energy blocks. Would you be open to a healing conversation about forgiveness? No. Closure is important for both parties. Spiritual growth. I’m closed spiritually and literally blocked. Then Madison tried the mutual friends approach.
Started showing up at every group event, acting surprised to see me there. Game night at Carlos’s place. Oh, I didn’t know you’d be here. Carlos literally texted her not to come because I’d confirmed trivia night at our usual bar. What a coincidence. Posted about going on her Instagram story, beach volleyball Saturday.
The universe keeps bringing us together. I left not dealing with that energy during my me time. Each time she’d corner someone to talk about our misunderstanding and how I overreacted to a joke, people started avoiding her. Carlos told me she spent an entire party following different people, retelling the story, getting more dramatic each time.
Version one, I made a joke and he threw me out. Version five, I was expressing feelings and he made me homeless. Version 10, he planned this. He wanted me gone. It was probably another woman. There was no other woman. Unless you count my Xbox, which was getting more attention now that I had peace. The restraining order threat became real when she started showing up at my work.
Not inside, she’d learned that lesson, but outside, sitting in her car, waiting for lunch break, holding a sign that said, “Let’s talk.” Security noticed. HR got involved. They offered to call police. I said, “Next time.” Next time was the next day. Sign now said, “You can’t ignore love.” Police were called.
She got a warning. I filed for a restraining order. But the absolute peak entitlement, she sent her new boyfriend to talk to me. Yeah, she found some guy named Trent on a dating app, convinced him I was the villain, and sent him to man up and confront me. This poor dude shows up at my door, puffing his chest.
Trent, you Madison’s ex? Me? Yep. You threw her out over nothing. She broke up with me. I agreed. She didn’t like that. Trent, she said you were abusive. She say anything about the restraining order? The what? Showed him the paperwork, the police reports, the doorbell footage of her throwing boxes, the screenshots of her admitting it was a test. Trent stood there processing.
Then, “Bro, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”She said you were stalking her. Run, Trent. Run fast. Already am. Thanks for the heads up. He left. Madison called me screaming within 10 minutes. Didn’t answer, but the voicemail was Chef’s kiss. Apparently, I ruined her chance at happiness and poisoned Trent against her. Final update.
One month later, the restraining order was granted. Madison had to stay 500 ft away from me, my home, and my workplace. The judge read through the evidence, texts, doorbell footage, police reports, witness statements from my gym and office, and actually said, “Ma’am, you broke up with him.” He accepted. Everything else is harassment.
Madison tried to argue it was a miscommunication and I knew she was joking. Judge asked why someone would joke about breaking up. Her answer to see if he really loved me. Judge, that’s manipulation, not communication. Order granted. But even that didn’t stop her immediately. She tried working around it. Sent letters through mutual friends.
Returned unopened. Had her mom call me. Blocked. Created fake social media accounts. Reported. showed up at places right when I was leaving. Technically 500 ft. The last straw was when she applied to work at my company. Different department, but same building. HR flagged it immediately due to the restraining order.
She threatened to sue for discrimination. Their legal team shut that down quick. Through the grapevine, I heard the aftermath. Lost most of her friend group when the full story came out. Britney kicked her off the couch after the Trent incident. Parents made her pay rent to live at home. Started therapy court mandated after violating the RORO.
Lost her job unrelated to me. She no showed after the court date. The last direct contact attempt was a letter from her therapist. An actual therapist request to help with her closure process. My lawyer responded that any therapeutic closure needs to happen without my involvement and within the bounds of the restraining order.
6 months later, life is peaceful. Dated casually, nothing serious. Focused on work, got promoted, gym games without drama. Replaced all her decorative nonsense with things I actually like. My place looks like an adult lives here, not a Pinterest board. Ran into her mom at a grocery store last week. Awkward, but civil. Her mom.
I’m sorry about everything. Nolan Madison’s working on herself. Me. Hope it goes well for her. Her mom. She knows she messed up the testing thing. I never taught her that. Me, it’s done now. Moving forward. Her mom, you’re a good man. She had a good thing. Me had past tense. Take care. And that’s it.
She tested our relationship by threatening to end it. I called her bluff by agreeing. She expected me to fight, beg, prove my love through some grand gesture. Instead, I packed her stuff and moved on. The lesson: When someone threatens to leave to manipulate you, let them. If they wanted to stay, they wouldn’t threaten to go. And if it’s a test, it’s already failed.
My only regret, not doing it sooner. Those decorative pillows really were uncomfortable as hell. Oh, and Madison, last I heard, she’s dating some guy who loves playing those relationship games. They test each other constantly. Break up every other week. Perfect match. Me, I’m testing nothing except my new barbecue recipes and whether I can beat my personal record at the gym.
Both going better than any of her tests ever did.
