She Cheated, Asked to “Stay Friends”… So I Agreed — Just Not the Way She Expected

 

She Cheated, Asked to “Stay Friends”… So I Agreed — Just Not the Way She Expected

AITA for cutting off my cheating girlfriend after she asked to “just be friends”?

I’ve been sitting on this for months, letting everything settle, replaying it in my head from every angle. And now that I’m finally ready to lay it all out, I can see it clearly for what it was — not just a breakup, but a slow unraveling that I should’ve recognized way earlier.

So yeah… grab something, because this didn’t fall apart overnight. It built up piece by piece until it finally snapped.

I’m 34, working as a project manager in manufacturing. It’s not glamorous, but it’s solid. I’ve put in years of long hours, missed weekends, and more stress than I’d like to admit to get where I am.

I didn’t grow up with much. Single mom, government cheese in the fridge, lights going out more than once. That kind of upbringing sticks with you. It teaches you early that if you want something, you don’t wait for it — you grind for it.

Now I make about $135K a year. I’ve got a decent condo downtown, a leased car, and enough savings that I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder. It’s not luxury, but it’s stability. And that means everything to me.

Then there’s Vanessa.

We met three and a half years ago at a coffee shop. She walked in like she belonged everywhere she went. Bleached blonde hair, flawless makeup, that kind of presence that makes people look twice without even realizing it.

On paper, there were red flags everywhere. Law degree she never used. Part-time boutique job while she “figured things out.” Conversations that always somehow circled back to lifestyle, money, or what she “deserved.”

But I ignored all of it.

Because attraction has a way of making you rewrite reality.

My best friend Ethan saw through it immediately.

We’ve known each other since we were kids, back when we were both getting picked on for wearing secondhand clothes that didn’t fit right. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t miss much, and more importantly, doesn’t sugarcoat anything.

The first time he met her, he pulled me aside and said, “Bro, that woman is going to spend your money faster than Congress.”

I laughed it off. Thought he was being dramatic.

Turns out, he was just early.

Fast forward to last Tuesday.

I got home after one of those days where everything that could go wrong at work did. Three projects, nonstop calls, problems stacking on top of each other. All I wanted was a quiet night.

Instead, I walked into a setup.

Candles lit. Wine glasses out. Soft music playing in the background.

For a split second, I thought she was doing something nice. Something thoughtful.

Then I saw her face.

That expression people get when they’ve already made a decision and now they’re just performing the delivery.

“We need to talk,” she said, patting the couch next to her.

That phrase alone told me everything I needed to know.

I sat down anyway.

She launched into a speech that sounded like it had been rehearsed. Personal growth. Finding herself. Evolving. The kind of language people use when they’re trying to make something selfish sound philosophical.

And then she said it.

“I think we should take a break… just be friends for a while.”

There it was.

If you’ve been around long enough, you recognize it instantly. That’s not a pause. That’s a transition.

That’s someone testing out a new option while keeping the old one within reach.

I felt it hit me physically. Chest tight. Hands cold. That instinct to fight for it, to ask questions, to try to fix something that had already been decided without me.

But I didn’t.

I just nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “If that’s what you need.”

The look on her face was almost comical.

Confusion. Surprise. A little disappointment, even. Like she’d prepared for a completely different reaction and didn’t know what to do with this one.

“Oh… well, I’m glad you’re taking this so maturely,” she said, stumbling over her words.

Mature.

Right.

She packed a bag, said she’d stay with a friend for a few days, gave me one of those awkward, emotionless hugs, and walked out.

The second the door closed, I exhaled so hard it felt like my lungs had been under pressure the entire time.

Yeah, it hurt. More than I expected.

But underneath that… there was clarity.

She wanted to be “friends.”

That word kept echoing in my head.

Friends don’t get access to everything a partner does.

Friends don’t share finances, cars, accounts, or benefits.

Friends… are separate.

So I called Ethan.

“She’s gone,” I told him. “You were right.”

There was a pause.

“About damn time,” he said. “Want me to come over?”

He showed up half an hour later with his laptop and that look he gets when things are about to get real.

“All right,” he said, setting up at my kitchen table. “Time for a financial autopsy.”

We went through everything.

And I mean everything.

Line by line. Account by account. Expense by expense.

At first, it didn’t seem that bad. Small things. Gym membership where she was added as a guest. Phone plan with her line on my account. Car insurance listing her as a driver.

But then we got into the bigger stuff.

The Audi Q5.

The condo.

The credit card.

The joint savings.

When you look at it piece by piece, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It just feels like helping someone you care about.

But when you stack it all together…

It’s a different story.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, staring at the numbers on his screen.

“Dude,” he said slowly. “She’s costing you about forty-eight hundred a month.”

I just stared at him.

“That’s basically a second mortgage.”

The number sat there, heavy and undeniable.

And then we got to the car.

The Audi I bought eighteen months ago when her old Honda finally gave out.

I remembered the conversation like it had just happened. She needed something reliable. Something safe. Something that fit her “lifestyle.”

So I made it happen.

Loan in my name. Title in my name. Insurance in my name.

She was just a driver on the policy.

Legally, it was mine.

But in reality…

She treated it like it was hers.

And sitting there at that table, looking at everything laid out in front of me…

For the first time, I started to realize something I hadn’t let myself fully admit before.

This wasn’t just a relationship ending.

This was an exit strategy.

And the more I thought about her timing…

The sudden need for “space”…

The way she didn’t seem worried about anything she was leaving behind…

The more one question kept coming back, louder each time.

If she was so comfortable walking away from all of this…

Then what exactly…

was she walking toward?

“”””””Continue in C0mment 👇👇

The ironic part is I have probably driven that car maybe 12 times since I bought it. It became her car while I kept driving my trusty old Toyota. She used it for everything. Work, shopping, visiting her parents 2 hours away, girls nights out. I was basically paying $580 a month for someone else’s transportation. She wants to be my friend, I told Ethan.

So, we are going to see just how good of a friend she really is. Ethan got this wicked grin on his face, the one that meant he was cooking up something beautiful. You’re going to treat her exactly like you treat your other friends. Equal footing, no special privileges. We spent the rest of the night systematically untangling three and a half years of financial entanglement.

We changed the passwords to all the streaming services. We called the gym and I had her removed from my membership. I contacted the phone company and had her line moved to an individual plan. The credit card was trickier. She had been using it for everything. Starbucks coffees, impulse buys, gas, groceries, you name it. I called the company and had her removed as an authorized user, effective immediately.

The joint savings account was closed, and I transferred the money into my personal account. Technically, about $6,000 of it came from her part-time boutique job, but the other $8,000 was from my salary. I figured I would sort out the details later if it became an issue. The car was the trickiest piece. Everything was in my name, but she had the keys and considered it hers.

I was not going to report it stolen or anything dramatic, but I also was not going to keep paying for a car someone else used daily. I sent her a simple text. Hey, since we’re taking some time to figure things out as friends, I’m going to need the Audi back. All the payments and insurance are in my name, and it is becoming a liability issue for me.

Let me know when you can drop it off. Simple logistics between friends, right? I sent that text at 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday. By Thursday afternoon, she had tried to log into Netflix, password changed, tried to use the card for lunch, declined, and realized her phone plan had been transferred to an individual plan she would have to pay for herself.

The banging on my door Thursday night was so aggressive I heard it from my bedroom. I looked through the peepphole and there was Vanessa, hair a mess, makeup smudged, wearing the same clothes from two days ago, but looking like she had been through a hurricane. I opened the door and she immediately started yelling.

What the hell is wrong with you? I am not sure what you mean, I replied, keeping my voice calm. You cut off my credit card. You changed all the passwords. My phone plan is different. And now you want the car back. What am I supposed to do? The sense of entitlement in her voice was breathtaking, as if I were personally responsible for solving all her practical problems.

I am treating you like a friend, I said simply. I do not pay for my friend’s Netflix subscriptions or give them credit cards. This is completely different and you know it. How is it different? You ended our relationship. You said you needed space and friendship. I am giving you exactly what you asked for.

She was getting more frantic by the second. I have a job interview tomorrow morning. I need the car for the boutique. The boutique? I asked. No, for a real opportunity, a marketing coordinator position. Interesting. She had never mentioned looking for a real career opportunity during our relationship, but that was no longer my problem.

I understand it is inconvenient, I said. But I cannot keep paying for a car someone else uses exclusively. It is not personal. It is just financial reality. That is when she pulled out the manipulation playbook. You are being controlling. This is exactly the kind of behavior that made me realize I needed space. I am being controlling by stopping payment on your expenses.

Are you trying to punish me for being honest about my feelings? I am trying to adjust our arrangement to fit our new relationship status. You are now my friend, not my girlfriend. This is how I treat my friends. She stood there for a few seconds and I could literally see her brain reccalibrating. Then she switched tactics to pity mode.

Look, I know this transition is hard, she said, her voice softening, her expression turning vulnerable, but I thought we could handle this like mature adults. I just need a little time to get on my feet. Of course, I said, take all the time you need. Just do it with your own car and your own streaming accounts.

The mask fell off again immediately. You are being an ass. Derek said you would probably react this way. And there it was. Derek, the name that had been popping up way too often over the last few weeks. The friend from her yoga training course who texted her at odd hours and met her for coffee to talk about the industry.

Who is Derek? I asked though I had a pretty good idea. He is just a friend who has been really supportive through this difficult time. Supportive of what? The breakup that you initiated. She realized she had just slipped up. It is not what you think. I think Dererick has been telling you that you deserve better than me and you decided to see if he was right.

Am I close? Her face turned beat red. You are twisting everything. Give me the car keys, Vanessa. Absolutely not. I pulled out my phone and opened the Audi app. Modern cars have all sorts of remote features these days. I can lock it, unlock it, remote start it, track its location, and yes, set off the alarm from anywhere.

I can disable the car remotely, I told her, showing her the app interface. You can either give me the keys now, or you can give them to me tomorrow when it will not start. Your choice. She looked at me like I had just told her I could fly. You would not dare. I hit the alarm button. Down in the parking garage, we heard the car’s siren echoing off the concrete walls, loud enough for the neighbors to wonder what was going on. The keys.

She was so furious now she was literally shaking, but she reached into her purse with jerky, violent movements and threw the keys at my chest. They bounced off and clattered to the floor. “You are going to regret this,” she spat. “I highly doubt it,” I replied. I tapped the app and the alarm stopped. The sudden silence was almost deafening.

“You need to get your things out of the apartment,” I continued. “You have 48 hours to coordinate a time with me.” After that, I am changing the locks for security reasons. She gave me a look of pure hatred before turning and storming down the hall. I heard her footsteps stomping all the way to the stairwell. After she was gone, I called Ethan.

Phase one complete. She has officially been disconnected from everything. How did she take it? About how you would imagine. She mentioned some guy named Derek. Ah, there is the other guy. Saw that coming a mile away. What is the plan now? Now we wait. She has nowhere to go but to Dererick’s place. And something tells me that is going to get interesting real soon.

Ethan was quiet for a moment. You know this is not over, right? Women like that do not just disappear quietly. She is going to try to screw you over. He was absolutely right. That weekend, I got a call from my credit card company’s fraud department. Someone had called in pretending to be me, claiming my card was stolen and trying to have a replacement sent to a different address.

They failed the security questions, so it was flagged for manual review. When I confirmed I still had my card and it had not been stolen, they told me the number the call came from. It was Vanessa’s. Then on Monday morning, I got an email from human resources asking me to come in for a meeting.

My stomach immediately dropped to the floor. I had been with this manufacturing company for 7 years with a spotless record and suddenly I was being called into HR right after a disastrous breakup. It was no coincidence. I walked into the conference room to find the director of HR sitting with my supervisor. They both had serious expressions that meant this was not going to be a casual chat about my quarterly performance review.

Thanks for coming in, the HR director said in that neutral tone they use when they are about to deliver bad news. We have received an anonymous communication with some concerning allegations about your personal conduct that could impact your professional standing. She turned her laptop so I could read the screen.

It was an email from a generic account professionally worded but designed to paint me as an unstable, controlling person who was harassing his exartner and exhibiting concerning behaviors that could affect workplace safety. clearly written by someone who knew exactly which buzzwords would set off alarms in corporate HR.

This is retaliation, I said immediately, keeping my voice steady. My girlfriend and I ended our relationship last week. She has been trying to cause problems for me ever since I stopped paying for her expenses. My supervisor, who I had worked with for 4 years, leaned forward. This description does not align at all with the employee I know, but we are obligated to document any complaint we receive.

I understand completely, I replied. The person described in that email is not me, and I can prove it. I pulled out my phone and showed them the text thread with Vanessa. Every single message was calm, reasonable, and focused on practical logistics. Nothing threatening, nothing aggressive, just a guy trying to sort out shared property after a breakup.

This does appear malicious and untruthful, the HR director said after reading through everything. We will log this as a fraudulent complaint and add a note to your file about potential ongoing retaliation. If anything else happens, contact us immediately. That night, I made one of the best investments of my adult life, a wireless security camera for outside my front door.

Something told me the drama was far from over. That camera turned out to be worth its weight and gold. Over the next week and a half, it caught Vanessa trying to get into my apartment on four separate occasions. She had kept a copy of the key and was trying to use it. Even though I had told her plainly our relationship was over.

The fourth attempt happened while I was home. It was about 9:30 on a Tuesday night and I got the motion alert on my phone. I switched to the live feed and saw her crouched in front of my door trying different keys and getting increasingly frustrated that none of them worked. Then I watched her pull out what looked like a credit card and tried to jimmy the lock.

I waited until she was really focused on her little B&E attempt. And then I swung the door open while she was still crouched down with the card halfway in the frame. What the hell are you doing? She jumped so fast she nearly fell over. I just I left some important things in here. So you thought breaking and entering at 9:30 at night was a better option than calling me? I did call you.

I did not answer because we are not together anymore. Vanessa, you do not have access to the apartment anymore just because we used to date. She started to cry. Real tears this time, not the manipulative ones from before. I made a huge mistake. I want to fix things. What happened with Derek? Dererick is complicated. I bet he is. Let me guess.

He is not as generous as I was. She stood there sobbing and for half a second I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. I need help, she said quietly. I got fired from the boutique because I could not get there reliably without a car. Dererick has been helping a little, but but he is married. There it was. The full truth finally came out.

Dererick was a married guy who had been feeding her a line about leaving his wife and she had thrown away three and a half years of stability on empty promises. That is not my problem, I said. Please, she begged, the tears flowing for real now. I will do anything. I will sign a contract. I will pay you back however long it takes.

Whatever you want. What I want is for you to leave me alone. I cannot afford rent anywhere without help. I have been sleeping in my car since Dererick’s wife found out about us. The irony was beautiful. She was sleeping in a car, probably a rental since I had taken the Audi back because her affair had blown up in her face.

Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided you needed space. I closed the door and went back inside, but I could hear her crying in the hallway for another 15 minutes before she finally left. The next day, I told Ethan about the whole pathetic scene outside my apartment. He just shook his head and said, “Bro, she is going to keep coming back until you make it impossible for her to see you as an option.

” “What do you mean?” She has it in her head that you are her fallback plan. That if things get bad enough, you will take her back out of pity or guilt. You need to completely destroy that fantasy. Ethan had that mischievous look on his face, the one that meant he was plotting something devilish. Remember how we used to deal with bullies when we were kids? He said, “We did not just stand up to them.

We made them regret ever messing with us in the first place.” What are you thinking? This Derek Guy, the married one, you know where he works? Yeah, I did. Vanessa had mentioned the marketing agency several times during her career exploration phase. It was one of those hip downtown agencies with exposed brick walls and craft coffee on tap.

I am thinking, Ethan continued, that Dererick’s wife would be very interested to learn what kind of career mentoring her husband has been giving your ex. Ethan pulled out his phone with a grin. LinkedIn, Facebook, wedding photos. Give me 30 minutes. Sure enough, 30 minutes later, he had found Dererick’s wife, Julia. She was a kindergarten teacher, looked like a sweet person, and clearly had no idea her husband was running around telling people he was going to leave her.

We are not going to contact her directly, Ethan said. That would be messy and could backfire, but we are going to make sure she finds out through the proper channels. How? An anonymous tip to Dererick’s company. Most marketing agencies have strict policies about employees getting romantically involved with clients or contractors, especially when it involves adultery and potential legal trouble.

It was brilliant in its simplicity. Ethan spent an hour crafting the perfect anonymous email to Dererick’s HR department. Nothing false or malicious, just a concerned citizen reporting that one of their employees was engaged in an inappropriate relationship that could expose the company to legal liability, particularly since it involved a married employee and adultery.

He sent it from a completely untraceable account, and we waited to see what would happen. The email worked faster than we ever expected. Apparently, Dererick’s marketing agency took liability issues very seriously. Within three business days, Dererick was fired. And in the marketing community, when you get fired for cause, word travels fast.

I know all this because Vanessa showed up at my apartment again. But this time, she was a complete wreck. Unwashed hair, smudged makeup, clothes she looked like she had been wearing for days. “You did this?” she said as soon as I opened the door. You got Dererick fired. I did not do anything to Derek. His wife found out about us.

She is filing for divorce. He lost his job. He says, “It is all your fault.” How is it my fault that Derek could not keep his commitments to his wife? She started crying again. But this was the ugly cry. Snot, red eyes, a full-on meltdown. I have nowhere to go. I am sleeping in a rental car, and I cannot afford it for much longer.

She was falling apart in real time. And I would be lying if I said I did not feel a certain satisfaction watching Karma catch up with her. I am sorry you are in a tough spot, I said. But it is not my responsibility. Please, she pleaded. I will do anything. I will sign something saying I will pay you back. I will work to earn it. Whatever you want.

Just then, Ethan appeared in the hallway behind me. I had texted him when I saw her on the camera, and he had come over to witness the finale. “Well, well,” he said with a grin. “If it is not the princess herself,” Vanessa’s face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and rage. Stay out of this, Ethan. Nope. You ruined this all by yourself, sweetie. No help for me.

She turned back to me, desperate. Do not listen to him. We can fix this. Just give me one more chance. One more chance for what? I asked to find the next Derek. There is no next Derek. I made a terrible mistake. Yes, you did. The mistake was thinking I would be here waiting when your backup plan fell through. Ethan stepped forward with that wicked grin.

You know what, princess? Let me lay it out for you. You had a man who paid for everything, never complained, treated you right, and was building a future with you. And you threw it all away for some married guy who sold you a fairy tale about leaving his wife. It was not like that. It was exactly like that.

And now you are here begging for scraps because you finally realize that good men are not just waiting around to be your safety net. She was sobbing. I am sorry. I am so so sorry. I will do anything to fix it. Anything? Ethan asked, looking at me with that mischievous expression again. What are you thinking? I asked him.

Well, she says she will do anything. And you have been talking about getting those security cameras installed throughout the building. Management has been looking for someone to do the job at a reasonable price. I caught on immediately. That is pretty physical work. A lot of drilling, pulling wire, heavy lifting.

Not exactly Vanessa’s specialty. Well, I guess she is about to get real familiar with an honest day’s work. What Ethan was proposing was beautiful in its perfect justice. I had been discussing updating the entire complex’s security system with the building management. They wanted cameras in the garage, the entrance, all the hallways, and the outdoor areas.

The professional bids they had received were in the 12,000 to $15,000 range. Here is the deal. I told Vanessa, “You want money? You can earn it. I will pay you $13 an hour to help install security cameras throughout the building. Her face went through a whole spectrum of emotions. $13 an hour. It is honest work, more real work than you have done in the past 3 years combined.

I cannot do manual labor. Then I guess you will be sleeping in your rental car again tonight. She stood there for a long time, probably calculating her very limited options. They were not good. Fine, she finally said, but I want $18 an hour. 13. Take it or leave it. Deal. The next morning, she showed up at 6:45 a.m. sharp.

As we had arranged, Ethan was already there with his work truck loaded with gear, boxes of cameras, miles of cable, drills, mounting brackets, and all the tools needed for a professional installation. The look on Vanessa’s face when she saw the sheer scale of the project was absolutely priceless. I thought this was just like plugging things in and hanging a few cameras, she said, staring at the mountain of equipment.

Not even close, Ethan replied cheerfully. We are pulling wire through walls, drilling into concrete and brick, setting brackets with anchors, programming systems. Hope you are not afraid to get your hands dirty. For the next 9 hours, I watched the woman who had lived off my generosity for three and a half years learn what real work meant.

Ethan gave her no slack. He had her crawling through tight spaces, drilling pilot holes into concrete walls, carrying heavy equipment up multiple flights of stairs, and feeding cable through tiny gaps. By lunchtime, she was exhausted and covered in concrete dust. Her manicure was completely destroyed. Her hair was a mess, and she looked like she wanted to quit and cry at the same time.

This is not what I expected, she said during our break, looking at her dirty, scraped hands. What did you expect? I asked. I do not know. Something easier, I guess. Most things seem easier when someone else is paying for everything. She worked the rest of the day, barely saying a word except to ask Ethan where tools were or how to do specific tasks.

At the end of it, I handed her $117 in cash. She looked at the money like it was a foreign currency. This is all I made in 9 hours. That is what you earned for 9 hours of real labor. There is a difference. I used to spend more than this on a single lunch with my credit card.

The reality of her situation was finally starting to sink in. She had gone from having all her expenses covered to earning $13 an hour doing physical labor. From designer clothes and spa days to work clothes covered in dust and concrete debris. From sleeping in a luxury condo to sleeping in a rental car, she could not afford for much longer.

“I need more work,” she said quietly. “Be back tomorrow if you want it. We will be doing the second and third floors.” She came back the next day and the day after that and every day for the next 2 and 1/2 weeks. Ethan made sure she earned every single dollar. And I made sure she understood this was what self-sufficiency actually looked like.

The work was genuinely hard. We were installing a full security system with 24 cameras, motion sensors, and a central monitoring station. It required drilling through concrete, pulling wire through walls, mounting equipment at tricky angles, and programming complex systems. Vanessa had never done anything remotely like it in her life.

Her hands became scraped and calloused. Her back achd from crawling through tight spaces. She got frustrated trying to fish wires through wall cavities. She had to learn how to use power tools, read technical diagrams, and follow complex installation procedures. But something interesting started to happen around day 8. She complained less.

She started asking Ethan about proper techniques instead of just struggling in silence. She began to anticipate what tools would be needed for each task. I think she is actually learning something, Ethan told me in private. Not just the work, but about what it takes to earn a dollar. On day 12, we were finishing the lobby cameras when she finally had her complete breakdown.

I cannot do this anymore, she said, sitting on the floor with her head in her hands. I am not built for this kind of life. You are not built for work, I asked. I am not built to be alone. I am not built to struggle financially. I am not built for any of this. Ethan and I looked at each other. This was the moment we had been waiting for.

the total collapse of her worldview built on entitlement and comfort. You know the fundamental difference between you and me. I told her I am built for this because I had no choice. I grew up with nothing. I worked for everything I have and I never expected anyone else to solve my problems. You have lived off the generosity of others your entire adult life. That is not fair.

It is completely fair. Your parents paid for your college. I covered all your expenses for 3 and 1/2 years. And Dererick was supposed to be your next source of financial support. You have never actually stood on your own two feet. She was crying again, but this time it was different. Less manipulative, more genuinely broken.

I do not know how to do this, she admitted. Then you learn like everyone else has to. I made a terrible mistake. I get it now. Can we not just somehow start over? Start over? You tried to destroy my career. You tried to break into my apartment multiple times and you committed credit card fraud. You really think I am ever going to trust you again. I was desperate and scared.

You were being selfish and entitled. There is a big difference. Ethan finished mounting the last camera and started packing up his tools. That is a wrap. We are completely finished. I handed Vanessa her final payment. $338 for 2 and 12 weeks of the hardest work she had ever done in her life. This is what you really owed me, I told her. Not money.

Understanding. Understanding that actions have consequences. That people are not just resources to be used when it is convenient for you. That the world does not owe you comfort just because you exist. She took the cash and looked at it like it represented everything and nothing all at once.

What am I supposed to do now? Figure it out. Just like the rest of us have had to. Two months later, I ran into Derek at a coffee shop downtown. He looked awful, stressed, worn out, probably going through a very expensive divorce. He saw me and with all the gall in the world, he walked over to my table. “You destroyed my entire life,” he said, trying to sound threatening, but really just sounding defeated. “I did not do a thing to you.

You destroyed your own life. You got me fired. You ruined my marriage. I did not force you to cheat on your wife. I did not force you to lie to Vanessa about leaving her. I did not force you to risk your career for an affair. You made all those choices on your own. He just stood there completely deflated.

Was she even worth it? Was she worth it? He turned without answering and I never saw him again. As for Vanessa, Ethan has his finger on the pulse of everything through his network of contacts, so I get updates every so often. Last I heard, she moved back home with her parents in Ohio. Apparently, she is working at a department store now and dating some guy who manages an electronic store.

The yoga instructor certification never happened. The marketing career never materialized. And Dererick’s divorce took him to the cleaners. He now lives in a tiny studio apartment and drives a 15-year-old sedan. Me, on the other hand, I am doing fantastic. The security system we installed in the building has already caught two attempted breakins and a package theft in progress.

It turned out to be a great investment for everyone. I got promoted to senior project manager at work. I started dating a nurse named Olivia who has her own car and pays for her own streaming services. And I sleep soundly every night knowing I dodged a bullet the size of a freight train. The ironic thing about giving someone exactly what they ask for is they usually have no idea what they are really asking for. Vanessa wanted space.

I gave her the entire universe. She wanted to be friends. I treated her exactly like a friend. She wanted independence. I made sure she got the full experience. Sometimes the best revenge is just letting people live with the natural consequences of their own choices. The security cameras are still working perfectly.

By the way, the building management was so impressed with the quality of the installation that they hired Ethan’s company for three additional projects. Vanessa’s 2 and 1/2 weeks of manual labor launched a whole new revenue stream for my best friend. And every time I walk through that lobby and see those cameras watching over everything, I remember the look on her face when she realized the world was not going to hand her anything just because she was attractive and knew how to manipulate people’s emotions.

Ethan was right from the beginning. Some people are takers and they will keep taking until you make it impossible. The only way to deal with someone like that is to give them exactly what they say they want and then step back and watch them deal with the reality they created for themselves.

If you liked it, don’t forget to leave a comment and support the channel by subscribing. See you in the upcoming stories.