I thought our relationship was great until I discovered a secret note from my boyfriend’s former partner. At first, I thought it was all a spiteful gesture, but as I read every word she said, my pulse raced with a terrible certainty: the warnings were genuine, and I had to get out of this nightmare before it was too late.
It all started one day when I was cleaning, cleaning cabinets and sanitizing shelves, when I found a crumpled note hidden behind a stack of neglected things. The note, which was attached to a picture of a woman I had never met, said:
“To Matt’s prospective girlfriend,
He wouldn’t clean back here, so I know you’re reading this. I want to warn you about him because I’m leaving him soon, therefore I’m posting this here:
He refuses to tidy.
He’s not going to listen.
He’ll make it seem like YOU are to blame for everything.
He is simply an unskilled individual; it is not your responsibility. I’m going to leave him, and I advise you to follow suit.
Warm regards, Teresa
(PS: That’s me in the photo, and I’m so glad I broke up with this dirty, foul-smelling jerk.)
Shock and incredulity swept over me as I gazed at the note. The information brought back countless times I had asked him to do things like take out the garbage, clean the counters, or pick up his dropped socks, only to be told, “I’m busy right now… I’ll do it later.” However, “later” never arrived. Trash accumulated, linen remained unwashed, and dishes piled up in the sink. I muttered to myself as I realized how many times I had downplayed my emotions and justified his negligence in order to maintain harmony.
I took the note to Matt when he got home and challenged him. As soon as he saw Teresa’s name and photo, his face darkened. He grabbed the note, crumpled it, and tossed it in the garbage without saying anything. “Don’t start this, Rachel,” he remarked sarcastically. She is insane. What I endured with her is beyond your comprehension. “But, Matt… the cleaning?” I persisted. You never cleaned back there, and you’ve been doing less and less. That’s precisely how I discovered it. In reaction, his jaw tensed. He yelled, “You weren’t whining before.” “After two years of dating, you’re allowing a resentful note from an ex to destroy our relationship?” “But what have we built, Matt?” I shot back. A partnership in which I bear all the weight and you make no contributions?
Things swiftly got out of hand. As though to underscore his disobedience, he slapped his hand on the counter. “What more do you want? I buy groceries occasionally and I pay half the rent.” “I want a partner, not someone I have to mother,” I said, hardly able to control my rage. He became enraged and accused me of allowing his past to control my emotions. Even more painful than the information in the note was that.
That night, feeling upset and frustrated, I ran away to a friend’s place. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to leave,” he wrote in his painful farewell note. But really, Rachel? Is a note more important to you than our relationship? Above me? over our animals? I didn’t respond. I even made a record of all the times I reminded him to clean up after himself when I went back to face him the following morning. The last straw came when he made fun of me and compared my grievances to those of his ex.
He blocked the door as I was gathering my belongings and getting ready to go permanently. He said in a low, threatening voice, “You’re not going anywhere.” As I held my ground, my heart raced. “Now, Matt, get moving,” I commanded. After a while, he grudgingly moved away as his eyes flashed with an emotion I didn’t want to see. After Matt departed for work, I needed help packing my things, so I contacted my brother to come over.
I placed my own letter where Teresa’s had been in a moment of bittersweet closure: “Dear Matt, Tidy up your filthy home. Warm regards, Rachel. It was undoubtedly petty, but it captured just how tired I was with the state of affairs.
My mind was racing with thoughts about Teresa and Matt’s past as I slept in my friend’s guest room that evening, the ceiling fan humming overhead. I looked up Teresa online because I couldn’t shake the nagging doubt. I quickly discovered her social media accounts, which included a glowing profile photo of a happy woman on a sunny beach. I plucked up the bravery to message her, saying, “Hello Teresa. I discovered your note at Matt’s house, but you don’t know me. She responded in a kind and welcoming manner an hour later: “Oh wow. I wanted to know if it would ever be discovered. Would you like to get together? The following day, we planned to get coffee at Black Coffee Beanz.
It felt unreal to meet Teresa. I expected her to be resentful, yet she was genuine and sympathetic. She stirred her coffee and whispered softly, “I’m just glad you got out.” “I understand the difficulty.” “He made me feel like I was overreacting,” I admitted. “That’s exactly what he does—he rewrites reality until you doubt your own feelings,” she said, nodding. Her voice softened as I tentatively inquired if she had ever experienced fear. He flung a chair across the room the day I left. It was close enough to frighten me, but not at me.
Everything I had sensed was confirmed by her comments. Her expression tensed as I brought up my pets from Matt’s house. She cautioned, “He used to get destructive when angry.” I realized then that I couldn’t possibly stay much longer. I immediately phoned my landlord. Fortunately, he was sympathetic, particularly after Teresa, who was a lawyer, promised to assist me in breaking the lease, even if it meant paying for August.
I came back to a scene of complete anarchy by noon the following day. My clothes were ripped, my pet rats’ cage was open, and broken dishes were all over the place. When I noticed two small noses peering out of a shoebox, safe and sound, my pulse stopped racing and I felt a wave of relief. “This is exactly why we’re here—you’re stronger than you know,” Teresa said as she knelt next to me. She taunted me about finding her two notes—one under the toaster and one beneath the vacuum—as we packed after I nodded. As a little but amusing reminder of his selective cleaning, the vacuum note was indeed still present but the toaster note had disappeared.
Teresa and I celebrated new beginnings with takeout and lemonade that evening in my new apartment, with my cats snuggled next to me. I said to her, “You truly saved my life.” “No, you saved yourself,” she said with a kind smile. Her remarks struck a deep chord.
My pet rats were exploring their freshly improved cage, a nice gift from Teresa, who had become an unexpected and beloved friend, as I sat in my sunny apartment six months later. My house was tranquil, immaculate, and scented with the soothing aroma of lavender. Then Matt texted, saying, “I miss you.” I’ve evolved. Please return. Recalling the power and boundaries I had established, I gazed about at the tranquility I had created and calmly responded, “No. But for the benefit of the next individual, I sincerely hope that you have changed. Knowing that healing meant creating a life where my voice was heard and my feelings were valued, rather than simply moving on, I blocked his number.
Having the guts to start anew can sometimes lead to the best outcomes.