He Swore I Belonged To Him Until I Walked Away

It sounded appealing from the start, and I believe it was the way he expressed it. He said, “You were made for me, and I was made for you. You and I are meant for each other.” I stood there, captivated, unsure of how to respond. All I could do was smile. He urged, “Say something.” I replied, “You’ve said everything perfectly. Anything I say now would just echo your words.”

Our love was fresh, and we were utterly enchanted with each other. Those were the days we could talk on the phone for hours, never quite knowing how to say goodbye or who should hang up first. That’s the blissful phase of every relationship. You wish it could last forever, but then one day you wake up to questions like, “Why didn’t you call me yesterday?” and the other person replies, “Why didn’t you call me either?”

Typically, the excitement lasts a bit longer, but that wasn’t our experience. We began arguing just two months into our relationship. He became possessive, wanting to know who I spoke to during the day and what we discussed. If a guy smiled at me, he would demand to know the reason behind it. A simple greeting from a stranger was enough to land me in trouble with him.

When he got angry, he would kick things or throw whatever was within reach. One evening, he was so furious that he was trembling. He had seen a guy call me “dear” in my messages and asked, “Why did he call you ‘dear’? Are you his girlfriend?” I found it amusing and laughed, which only triggered a tantrum from him as he imagined all sorts of scenarios about what the guy could be doing with me behind his back.

I told him, “You’re overreacting!”

He began searching for things to hit or throw. When he found nothing, I became the only target in front of him, and he struck me. Before I could react, he hit me again. I sat down, cradling my cheek in my hand, tears streaming down my face. He continued to rant, making wild assumptions based on a mere “dear.”

I remained silent, paralyzed by fear, waiting for him to leave so I could text him that it was over. He calmed down slightly, moved closer, and said, “You’re mine, and I have to protect you from others.” Again, I didn’t respond; I just kept crying.

He knelt before me, apologizing. “You know how much I love you and how much it hurts to see someone trying to get close to you. I’m sorry for hitting you. It won’t happen again.” I stayed silent, just wanting him to leave so I could shut the door and send him a goodbye text.

Eventually, he left. I looked in the mirror and saw my swollen eye. I cried and whispered to myself, “This is it.”

I texted him: “I can’t continue this with you. This is where it ends, and I’m serious. Find someone who enjoys being slapped or insulted when you’re angry.” My message was read, but there was no reply. An hour later, I heard a knock at my door. It started off calm, but when I didn’t answer, it turned aggressive. I knew it was him.

I didn’t open the door.

He knocked relentlessly until my neighbors came out to tell him to stop disturbing everyone. It escalated into a confrontation with them. Soon, the men in the building emerged and forced him away. It was 12:36 a.m., and I had never felt so humiliated. The next morning, as I left for work, everyone stared at me, asking if I was okay.

I walked cautiously to work.

During my lunch break, the security guard informed me that I had a visitor. It was him. He had given the guard a false name; otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone to see him. There he was, face to face with me. He noticed my swollen eye and apologized again. “I’m sorry for everything that happened last night. Every couple has rough patches, and that was ours. It shouldn’t have led you to send that message.”

I told him, “What I sent wasn’t just about last night. You’re not the right guy for me, and I can’t tolerate how you act when you’re angry. It’s over, and I mean it. You can find a new girlfriend because I’m done.” He fell silent, but I could see his fists trembling. If we had been anywhere else, he would have started throwing things. He couldn’t do that in my office, though; he was struggling to control himself.

He looked at me and said, “You think you can just get rid of me because of that guy who called you ‘dear’? Think again! If I can’t have you, no one will.”

I stood up and walked away from him.

Deep down, I was frightened of what he might do, so I packed a few belongings and went to stay with a friend. Over the next few days, he bombarded my phone with calls. I was traumatized. He came to my office twice, using a fake identity, but the security guards told him I wasn’t there. He sent me threats, followed by apologies and sweet messages. I never replied. Eventually, I changed my number, and the messages ceased.

One evening at my friend’s place, we heard a knock on the door. My friend went to see who it was. It was him.

He pushed my friend aside and entered the room. I was lying on the couch watching TV when he walked in. “You think I can’t find you? Do you think you can escape from me?” As soon as I stood up, he grabbed my shoulder and said, “Please, I came to apologize for everything. Please listen to me.” My friend yelled at him, “Leave my room, or I’ll call the police!” She kept shouting at him and even tugged at his shirt to force him out. That’s when he swung his hand, hitting my friend on the lips.

She began screaming, and neighbors rushed over. At first, I thought she was being dramatic to get him out, but when I saw her lips, I realized how seriously she was hurt. Blood was everywhere. She kept murmuring, “My tooth, my tooth is falling out.”

He fled the room. We took my friend to the hospital. Fortunately, her tooth was fine, but her upper lip required stitches.

It was no longer just about me and him. My friend felt victimized, so she reported the incident to the police. The next morning, he was arrested. I felt a pang of sadness for him, but there was little I could do. He spent a few hours in custody before being bailed out that afternoon. I never imagined he could look so remorseful. When he emerged from the cells, it was clear he had been crying. This was a guy who once seemed invincible to me, but that day, he appeared diminished—stripped of his dignity.

My friend was persuaded not to pursue the case further, but they ensured he covered all the medical expenses and warned him to stay away from us.

About a month later, he sent me a message: “Dear, I’m sorry for everything that happened between us. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m a changed person now. Just give me one more chance, and I’ll show you how much I’ve improved.”

I replied, “Do you want to end up back in the cells?”

—Rita,
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