I met Collins when I was working long shifts at a restaurant, struggling to make ends meet. He seemed kind, caring, and thoughtful — remembering little things about me, offering rides, and showing support when I needed it most. After a year of dating, he proposed, and I said yes without hesitation. We eventually moved in with his mother, Jenna, to “save money,” but soon, things started to change. Expectations piled up, and I found myself doing all the chores while Collins and Jenna treated me more like unpaid help than family.
After I was injured at work and placed on bed rest for six weeks, I thought I’d finally get some support. But the day I came home from the hospital, they carried me upstairs, locked the bedroom door from the outside, and slid a contract under the door demanding chores and rent. It was deeply unsettling. Thankfully, I had hidden a spare key months earlier — I let myself out, called my sister, and the police were at the door within minutes. I showed them the contract and explained everything.
With legal support from my brother-in-law, I filed for divorce and a restraining order. Collins lost his job after his employer learned what had happened, and his mother was eventually evicted. Meanwhile, I started my recovery in a safe environment surrounded by people who truly cared. The experience, while traumatic, pushed me to reclaim my independence and set firm boundaries for the future.
A few months later, I ran into Collins. He told me I had “ruined his life.” I simply replied, “You didn’t think I had one without you.” It wasn’t revenge I was after — it was peace, and I finally found it by walking away from people who never truly supported me.