I believed Collins was “the one”—he was thoughtful, noticed when my cat was sick, remembered my favorite tea.
After a year, he proposed and I moved in with him and his mother, Jenna. But his kindness soon vanished. I became the unpaid housekeeper. When I had a work injury and needed six weeks’ rest, Collins and Jenna carried me upstairs, fluffed pillows, gave me water… then locked me in and slid under a “Home Contribution Agreement” demanding I cook, clean, and pay rent after recovery.
Fortunately, I’d hidden a spare key. I called my sister, the police intervened, and I showed my medical records and the contract. That night, I left—for good. A week later I filed for divorce. Collins fought back, but my brother-in-law, a lawyer, dismantled his case. Collins lost the lawsuit and his job; Jenna was evicted.
Weeks later at the pharmacy, Collins accused me, “You ruined my life.” I smiled and replied, “No—I finally chose mine.”