She Left When Love Became Cleaning Up After Him

If my past relationship taught me anything, it’s that spending forever with someone who only gives you a fraction of what you deserve is a waste. Seek everything you believe you deserve or walk away while forever is still as fresh as the morning sun. I didn’t grasp this lesson while I was in the relationship; it became clear to me long after he exited my life for what I considered a trivial reason.

I didn’t cheat on him. I didn’t disrespect him. I didn’t keep any secrets from him. Think of anything that could ruin a relationship, and I can assure you I didn’t do it, so why did he leave?

I came to realize he was falling out of love with me but lacked the courage to express it. His actions spoke volumes. One day, when we had the chance to discuss the shift in our relationship, I asked him, “You don’t pay attention to me like you used to. You don’t even call unless I do. Did I do something wrong?” He replied, “No, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve been thinking a lot about my future, and I’m struggling to see where you fit in.”

It struck me like a hammer. Here was a guy I had been dating for nearly two years, and he suddenly tells me I don’t fit into his future? My first instinct was to question what I had done wrong, but as he elaborated, I understood it wasn’t about my mistakes but rather what I lacked. He wanted a woman who belonged in the corporate world, someone who dressed in suits, wore high heels, and commanded authority. The boss type.

I’m not that woman. Sure, I have a degree in business administration, but I’m more hands-on. I might sell waakye today and run a chop bar tomorrow. I enjoy selling and thrive on meeting demand. During our two years together, he held a steady office job while studying, hoping to climb the corporate ladder, while I transitioned from selling wigs to dresses and then cosmetics.

He didn’t appreciate that. “I prefer a woman with a stable career.” My erratic career made me seem unsuitable for him. I admired his honesty and appreciated that he didn’t waste my time once he realized I didn’t fit into his vision for the future. We ended things amicably, allowing us both to pursue our dreams.

Not long after, I met Stanley, a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Just two months into our relationship, he proposed:

“I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Just think about it. We could be a great couple.”

“No, I don’t want to be a couple with you.”

“But you haven’t even considered it?”

“No, I don’t need to think about it.”

He wouldn’t accept my refusal, but as time went on, his care and consideration won me over. Whenever we met to work on something, he consistently gave more than expected. His love for me grew to the point where it felt foolish to keep saying no. Eventually, I said yes, and he asked, “So, yes as in I’m your boyfriend?”

Our journey began, and after a year, nothing could hold us back. Yes, we faced minor challenges, but they only reinforced our commitment to making the relationship work. Our families knew each other, and we accomplished more in a year than I had in two years with my previous partner, so everything seemed to be heading toward marriage.

Then the world turned upside down, not just for us but for everyone. COVID-19 became the headline, and the focus shifted to the spread of the virus and the need for movement restrictions. The day after the lockdown was announced, he suggested, “Why don’t you move in with me? Instead of staying apart, we could use this time to plan our future together.”

That made sense, so the day before the lockdown, I packed my things and moved in with him.

The first day was enjoyable. I spent time getting to know his space and figuring out where my belongings would fit. It wasn’t my first time at his place, but it was the first time I would be there for an extended period without going anywhere. “I better get this right.” The first day passed peacefully, and we talked and laughed until 1 a.m. before going to bed.

By the fourth day of living together, I began to notice a troubling pattern.

The TV remote was missing. When I asked about it, he said, “Hmm, it should be around here somewhere, but I can’t find it. Maybe it fell into a corner.” I inquired again, “How long has it been missing?” He replied, “I don’t know. I don’t change the channel often, and when I do, I just walk to the TV and change it.” Determined to find the remote, I eventually discovered it wedged beneath the armrest of the sofa.

He had no idea where to put things. He tossed items around, making it hard for him to remember where he placed them. Shoes could end up under the coffee table, and dirty dishes would sit on the carpet. He would lie on the floor, kicking the dirty dishes around until the spoon fell off and disappeared. You’d search for the spoon only to find it when you lifted the sofa.

I started cleaning up after him, hoping he would notice and reciprocate. When he left dirty dishes in the living room, I would take them to the kitchen and wash them. The remote was always missing because he constantly moved it around. One morning, we couldn’t find it until I discovered it in the fridge later that afternoon.

I began to worry. “I can’t live in such chaos. Someone needs to make an effort to tidy up this place.” I started pointing out little things. As soon as he finished eating, I would say, “Please take the dish to the kitchen.” He would respond, “I’ll do it when I go there.” But he never went, so the dish remained.

Our first fight occurred on day seven.

He wore the same pair of boxer shorts for four days straight. I thought that was all he owned. He had several pairs, but he kept wearing this red striped one. “Don’t you change your boxers?” I asked. He ignored me. I shouted, “Is that the only boxer you have?” He snapped back, “Must you complain about everything in this house? Even my boxers?”

He got angry, not understanding why I was counting the days. It was his underwear, so why should I care? He felt micromanaged and said a lot of hurtful things, refusing to speak to me for the rest of the day.

Once tempers cooled, I decided to have an honest conversation: “I’m not asking for much. Just do the simple things for yourself, and I’ll do my part to keep this place running. I know it’s unsettling for me to be in your space, but we can work on it.” He didn’t say much, and I sensed his ego was still bruised, but I hoped to see some changes.

And yes, things did change.

Now, when he finished eating, he would signal for me to take the dish to the kitchen. When he couldn’t find the remote, he would ask me to look for it. He reduced the number of days he wore the same boxer shorts from four to two, and this time, when he took off his dirty boxers, he left them on the bed. In his mind, I was the woman, so I was expected to clean up after him.

Every morning, I would tidy up what I could and fix what I could around the house. I couldn’t live in chaos, so I tried. I was just counting the days until the quarantine ended so I could return home. Unfortunately, another week was added to my stay, but I knew the lockdown would eventually end.

I could sense he was growing tired of me. To him, I complained too much. I was trying to encourage him to do things he didn’t want to do for himself, which made him distance himself from me. He spent more time on his phone than talking to me. Yesterday, he didn’t shower, and this morning, he didn’t brush his teeth, but that was normal for him, so I kept quiet. I was just his girlfriend, not his mother.

Once everything is over, I can envision myself walking out the door and never returning. I will leave his life, not because he’s a bad person, but because forever is too long to waste with someone who only gives you half of what you deserve.

—Sophie

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