They say love blinds you. Well, my love didn’t just blind me… it crushed me, left me shattered, and handed me an $8,437.63 bill. All because I trusted a man who promised me forever, while secretly plotting his escape. But karma, as it turns out, doesn’t wear blindfolds. Karma knows how to fight dirty.
I met Brandon on a rainy Tuesday. It was just another shift at the bookstore café where I worked part-time. I had just started pouring a coffee when he walked in. His eyes scanned the place like he was looking for something… or someone. When he ordered his black coffee, he noticed the novel I had tucked under the counter, its pages worn from being read too many times.
“You really into that book?” he asked, his voice casual but intrigued.
“Yeah, it’s a classic,” I replied, trying to hide my surprise at his interest. Most people didn’t even notice the books behind the counter.
“I thought you only worked here part-time,” he said, sitting down across from me after I poured his coffee. “What else do you do?”
I shrugged, glancing down at my hands. “Teach full-time. Rent’s steep in this city.”
“I’m a freelance app developer,” he said, sliding a business card across the table. “Just signed a big client. Maybe you’ll be able to quit one of your jobs soon.”
I should’ve seen it then—the promise of a dream too perfect to be true, wrapped up in a smile that now makes my skin crawl.
A year later, we moved in together. The apartment wasn’t anything special—just a small, cozy one-bedroom with creaky floors and decent light, but it felt like home.
“Let’s make this easy,” Brandon said one afternoon, sitting at our kitchen table and unpacking his laptop. “I’ll cover rent and utilities since my income fluctuates. You handle groceries, cooking… you know, that stuff.”
I raised an eyebrow, a little unsure. “Are you sure? That seems a bit uneven.”
He took my hands, his touch tender. “Kristen, I’m saving for our future. Every extra dollar I make goes straight into our house fund.”
“House fund?” I blinked, my heart fluttering. “You mean… a house for us?”
He smiled, squeezing my hands. “Exactly. No more landlords, no more rent. Just us in our own place.”
I kissed him then, believing every word.
“Besides,” he added with a grin, “this arrangement makes sense with your teaching schedule. You’ve already got enough on your plate.”
For three years, that was our life. I’d come home from school, make dinner, grade papers, while Brandon worked on his apps. Sometimes he’d disappear for hours—client meetings or coding marathons at coffee shops. I never questioned it. I never questioned him.
“You’re the only one who’s ever believed in me,” he whispered one night, his arm wrapped around my waist as we lay in bed. “I can’t wait to take things to the next level with you.”
“Wait… are you proposing to me?” I laughed, my heart fluttering.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he smiled and pulled me into a tight hug, and I felt the butterflies. I believed in him. I believed in us.
Until the letter arrived.
It was an ordinary Friday. I was sipping cold coffee, scrolling through dinner recipes, when I saw it. An official-looking envelope with a bold, angry red stamp. Junk mail, I thought. But it wasn’t.
I opened it, and my world came crashing down.
NOTICE OF LEGAL ACTION FOR UNPAID RENT — $8,437.63
My name. My address. And a bill that I had no idea about.
I stood frozen, staring at the notice. “This has to be a mistake,” I whispered to the empty kitchen, my voice shaking.
I flipped through the attached papers, heart pounding. My signature was there. Well, it looked like my signature. But there was no Brandon’s name anywhere on the lease. He didn’t exist in the eyes of the property management. Only mine.
I grabbed my phone and dialed the property management office.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the representative confirmed after verifying my information. “The lease has been in your name since you moved in three years ago. Payments stopped six months ago.”
“Six months? No way. My fiancé handles the—”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no other name on the lease. We’ve sent multiple notices to your address.”
Notices I never saw.
“Your landlord has been patient, but we’re moving forward with legal action. The balance must be paid within thirty days, or we’ll begin eviction proceedings.”
I hung up, dazed, my thoughts swirling. I sat down at the kitchen table where Brandon and I had made countless memories—shared meals, plans, dreams. And now, everything was unraveling.
When Brandon came home hours later, I hadn’t moved.
“Hey, babe!” he called, shedding his jacket. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had. This client is actually considering investing in my fitness app. Could be huge.”
I barely looked up as he moved around the kitchen, making himself comfortable. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and started talking about his day. I felt like a stranger in my own apartment.
“Are you okay?” he asked, noticing my silence. “You look pale.”
“Just tired,” I murmured, trying to hide the storm brewing inside me. My gut told me not to show my cards. Not yet.
That night, Brandon seemed unusually attentive. He ordered takeout from my favorite Thai place, mixed cocktails, even lit candles. It felt like he was trying too hard.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Can’t a guy just appreciate his girl?” He raised his glass. “To us and our future home.”
When he stepped into the shower, singing some off-key pop tune, I noticed his phone lighting up on the coffee table. Brandon never locked his phone, and I knew his pattern by heart.
I picked it up, and there she was—Kelsey. Young, blonde, and apparently dating an “available” man.
Kelsey: “Can’t wait to see you next weekend! Condo hunting will be so fun!”
Brandon: “Already packing, my love. Can’t wait to finally be with you.”
I scrolled up, feeling numb, the realization hitting me with each new message. Money transfers. Plans. And worst of all, lies.
Then I found it.
Brandon: “My crazy ex-roommate doesn’t even know the lease is in her name since we started sharing the condo again. I’ve been pocketing the rent money for six months. By the time it all blows up, I’ll be long gone. The dummy thinks I’m actually paying rent. 😂”
Kelsey: “OMG, that’s cold… but genius. Her loss, my gain! 💕”
I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just put his phone back, sitting in the dark while the shower ran.
When Brandon emerged, I acted casual.
“Did you see my phone?” he asked, toweling off.
“It’s on the table.”
He took it, glancing at the screen.
“I have to go out of town next week,” he said, his voice casual. “Big meeting in Cedar Falls. Could mean serious money.”
Cedar Falls? Kelsey’s hometown.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Just three days,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
I nodded, already planning.
“I love you,” he said, kissing my forehead as he passed.
“I know,” I replied, my voice cold. This time, I didn’t say it back.
Brandon was obsessed with his sneakers—rare, limited editions that lined our closet like trophies. He’d spend a month’s worth of grocery money on a single pair of Jordans without batting an eye.
The morning he left for his “business trip,” I stood in our bedroom doorway, watching him pack.
“You’re taking a lot for three days,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Never know what meetings might pop up,” he mumbled, his focus on his suitcase.
I pointed at his prized sneakers. “Not taking your precious babies?”
He laughed. “Nah, these are for client meetings. Gotta look professional.”
After his Uber left, I called in sick to work and made one call to our landlord, Janice.
She showed up an hour later, sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued.
“I need to see the original lease,” I said, explaining the situation.
She pulled it from her folder and slid it across the table. “I remember your fiancé bringing this in. Said you were too busy with work to come yourself.”
I stared at the signature. “This isn’t my handwriting.”
Janice raised an eyebrow. “Let’s see yours.”
I signed a blank piece of paper. The difference was obvious.
“That little snake,” she muttered under her breath.
“Can you help me?” I asked, my voice steady despite the fury rising inside me.
She squeezed my hand. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve been there. My ex cleaned out our accounts and ran off with my best friend. I know how to get revenge.”
We spent the next hour hatching a plan. First, we changed the locks. Then, I set to work on Brandon’s precious sneaker collection.
One by one, I cracked eggs into the toe boxes of his Jordans. Under the insoles of his Yeezys. Between the layers of his limited-edition Dunks.
“The smell will be… unforgettable,” I murmured as I cracked the final egg.
Meanwhile, Janice posted a legal notice on the door: “PROPERTY SECURED DUE TO LEASE VIOLATION.”
“We wait now,” she said, winking at me.
Brandon returned three days later, and Janice called me immediately.
“You should’ve seen his face,” she cackled. “He tried using his key, then started pounding on the door. When I handed him the eviction notice, he turned white as a sheet.”
Minutes later, my phone exploded with messages:
“WHAT THE HELL KRISTEN??? My stuff is locked inside!”
“I need my laptop for work! This isn’t funny!”
“Answer your damn phone!”
I didn’t reply right away. I needed him to feel it, to know just how much trouble he was in.
Finally, I responded: “Funny how you need your things, but I need $8,437.63 to avoid eviction. Weird coincidence.”
He called immediately, but I ignored it. When I finally answered his tenth call, I could hear the panic in his voice.
“Kristen, baby, there’s clearly been a misunderstanding—”
“Is her name Misunderstanding? Because I thought it was Kelsey.”
“I can explain…”
“Explain the forged lease? The stolen money? The lies?”
“It’s not what you think…”
“How’s Cedar Falls? Nice condo hunting?”
“Look, I messed up. I admit it. But my whole life is in that apartment… my laptop, my clothes…”
“Your sneakers?” I said sweetly. “They might need some attention. I left something special in each one.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing compared to what you did to me. Pay the debt you created in my name, and maybe we’ll talk about your stuff.”
“I don’t have that kind of money!”
“Sell the sneakers. I hear they’re worth a fortune.”
“What?? No way!”
“Your wish! Your time’s running out, babe!”
I hung up.
In the following week, Brandon went through all the stages of desperation. He showed up at my school with wilted flowers, sent friends to beg on his behalf, even called my parents.
“He seemed so sincere,” my mother said, after his call. “Maybe you should talk to him.”
“He stole from me, Mom. He forged my signature. He planned to leave me homeless. He cheated on me.”
The tipping point came when Janice called. The rental company had filed in small claims court… and I was still listed as the defendant.
I forwarded the court notice to Brandon, with a simple line: “Hope she’s worth ruining your credit score too.”
Twenty minutes later, he called.
“How much exactly?”
“$8,437.63.”
“If I pay it, I get my stuff back?”
“Every egg-filled sneaker.”
He choked. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, but I did. Room temperature eggs. The smell will stick around for a while.”
Two days later, Brandon transferred the full amount to the rental company. Janice confirmed it, then handed me a letter releasing me from all liability.
I arranged for Brandon to collect his things while I was at work. He took everything except his precious sneakers. Those, he left in a stinking pile in the bedroom.
Janice and I bagged them up, both wearing masks.
“You know what’s funny?” she said, tying off a bag. “He could’ve just paid the rent and still kept his shoes and his side piece.”
“Greed makes people stupid,” I replied, smiling as I sealed the last bag.
That night, I sat in my newly empty apartment—mine, with a proper lease in my name—and finally let myself cry. Not for him, but for the years I’d lost, for the trust that was shattered, and for the future I had to rebuild.
Then, my phone buzzed. It was a final text from Brandon: “I hope you’re happy. You’ve ruined everything.”
I typed back: “Actually, I saved myself. And that’s worth every broken egg.”
Now, when I walk past sneaker displays, I smile. Some people collect shoes; I collect lessons. And the biggest one? When someone shows you who they really are, believe them the first time… not after three years.
