“I Want You Two To Meet So I Can Finally Decide Who I Should Choose,” She Said After Inviting Her…

Jason winced. Lob City Inn has a $150 per person cancellation fee if you leave after being seated plus the water. Ouch, I said. Hope she can call her dad. The text shifted tone around 9:00 p.m. My phone. You are a coward. A small insecure man. I gave you a chance to prove you were an alpha and you ran away. I’m done with you. Don’t bother coming home tonight. I’m changing the locks. Jason’s phone. You’re just as useless as you were 2 years ago. Enjoy your loser life. I laughed. She can’t change the locks. I told Jason it’s my apartment. Her name isn’t on the lease.

Does she know that? She’s about to find out. We stayed at the bar until closing.

We didn’t talk about her much after the first hour. We talked about sports, music, and the weird reality of being in your late 20s. Jason was actually a cool guy. He wasn’t the demon I’d been jealous of. He was just a guy trying to figure it out. Same as me. When we left, we shook hands. “Thanks for the beer,” I said. “Thanks for the save,” Jason said.

“And hey, sorry about your anniversary.

Best anniversary I ever had.” I said, “Honestly, it’s the day I got my life back. I didn’t go home that night. I stayed at a hotel. I knew she would be at my place waiting to stage act two of her drama. The screaming, the crying, the throwing of objects. I wasn’t interested in act two. I texted my landlord the next morning. I told him I had a guest who refused to leave and I might need the locks changed if she wasn’t gone by noon. I sent Vanessa one single text. We are done. You have until 12:00 p.m. today to remove your things from my apartment. Anything left after 12:01 p.m. will be placed on the curb.

Do not contact me again. She didn’t believe me. She texted back a paragraph about how I was overreacting to a test of love. I didn’t respond. I went to work. At 12:30 p.m., I went home with my brother and two of his friends for backup. Vanessa was still there sitting on the couch waiting for a fight. When she saw the three of us and the boxes I brought, she realized the audience wasn’t coming back. The reality set in.

She cried. She screamed. She tried to hug me. She tried to slap me. I didn’t engage. I just packed. My brother stood between us like a bouncer. It took two hours to clear her out. She left screaming that I would regret this, that I would never find anyone like her.

“That’s the plan,” I muttered as I closed the door. ” 6 months later, I’m dating someone new. Her name is Sarah.

She’s a nurse. She’s funny, kind, and when we go to dinner, she brings her wallet. I heard from a mutual friend about what happened to Vanessa.” After the dinner from hell, she tried to spin the story on social media. She posted a long, tearful video about how she was abandoned by two toxic men who couldn’t handle a strong woman exploring her options. It might have worked except Jason saw it. He didn’t write a long post. He just commented underneath, “You invited your ex to your anniversary dinner and asked us to debate who loved you more. We both left because that’s psychotic. Also, you still owe me $20 for the Uber.” The comment got more likes than her video. She deleted the post an hour later. Last week, I got a notification on my Ring doorbell. I was in the kitchen making dinner with Sarah.

I checked my phone. It was Vanessa. She looked different, tired, less put together. She was standing on my porch, shifting her weight. She rang the bell.

“Who is it?” Sarah asked. “Nobody,” I said. I tapped the microphone button on the app. “You’re trespassing,” I said through the speaker. Vanessa jumped. She looked up at the camera, her eyes filling with tears. Mark, please. I just want to talk. I miss you. I realized I was wrong. I don’t want Jason. I don’t want anyone else. I just want my anchor back. I looked at the screen. I felt nothing.

No anger, no sadness, no spark. Just the indifference of watching a stranger.

There’s no anchor here, Vanessa, I said.

Just a guy who’s happy you’re gone.

Leave or I’m calling the police. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the plastic lens of the camera, waiting for the door to open, waiting for the safe guy to cave. I closed the app and put my phone face down on the counter. “Everything okay?” Sarah asked, handing me a glass of wine. “Yeah,” I said, kissing her forehead. “Just a wrong number.”