I used to believe in love and thought Valentine’s Day was about connection. But Andrew changed everything. We had been dating for three months, and though he seemed perfect—charming, smart, and successful—things quickly took a turn.
We met in an unusual way: I was an intern at the hospital when Andrew injured his hand, and I patched him up. We exchanged numbers, and soon we were having coffee after my shifts. I shared my struggles with medical school debt, while he was already successful in tech, his parents disowning him when he chose coding over medicine.
Valentine’s Day came, and Andrew teased me about a surprise. But when he showed up in an Uber Black and took me to an extravagant restaurant, I felt uneasy. He ordered the most expensive dishes, and when the check arrived, it was $3,180. He then filmed himself and suggested we split the bill, despite promising he’d cover everything. My worst fear was realized—I was humiliated, branded a gold digger in front of strangers.
I left the restaurant in tears, blocking his calls and messages, but he showed up at my door the next night. I threatened to file a restraining order, and he finally left. My best friend Kara questioned my decision, suggesting I reconsider, but I knew I couldn’t stay with someone who would treat me like that.
What do you think, dear reader? Am I wrong?
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