I met Collins during a difficult time in my life, and he seemed like a kind, supportive man. After a year of dating, he proposed, and I said yes without hesitation. We moved into his mother’s home to save money, but slowly, expectations shifted. What started as sharing responsibilities turned into me handling all the chores while balancing long work hours. Subtle signs of control grew stronger, but I convinced myself it was just temporary.
Everything changed when I suffered a serious work injury and was told I’d need six weeks to recover. At first, Collins and his mother seemed caring, helping me settle into a room to rest. But then they locked the door from the outside and slid a contract under it—outlining daily chores I’d need to complete in exchange for staying there, even while injured. I realized this wasn’t care—it was control masked as concern.
Thankfully, I had hidden a spare key. I escaped, contacted my sister, and the police were called. When authorities arrived, I presented the document and explained everything. I left that night, filed for a restraining order, and shortly after, for divorce. The experience opened my eyes to the emotional manipulation I’d endured, and I chose to reclaim my independence.
In the weeks that followed, legal support from my family helped ensure Collins faced consequences. He lost his job, and the home he shared with his mother was vacated due to missed rent. Though painful, walking away was empowering. I learned that real love never comes with conditions—or locked doors.