When my phone rang late one evening, I wasnโt expecting to hear my exโs voice โ especially not shaky and full of tears. He said his new girlfriend had kicked him out and he had nowhere else to go. A part of me knew I shouldโve turned him away, but old habits die hard, and compassion sometimes wins over logic.
So I let him crash on my couch for the night.
The next morning, I woke up to a smell I hadnโt experienced in a long time โ fresh coffee, eggs, something warm and sweet. I walked into the kitchen to find breakfast laid out neatly, like a peace offering, and a handwritten note that stopped me in my tracks:
โYou were always the one.โ
For a moment, I just stood there. Confused. Flattered. Annoyed. All at once.
Was this an apology? A confession? A rekindling attempt I didnโt ask for?
I didnโt have long to think about it.
An hour later, my doorbell rang. I opened it expecting maybe a neighbourโฆ but there she was โ his girlfriend. Or rather, the girlfriend he claimed had kicked him out.
She looked angry, but not in the way I expected. Not at me.
At him.
Before I could even explain, she said, โIs he here? He told me this was his apartment.โ
Everything clicked at once.
The tears.
The โI got kicked out.โ
The breakfast.
The note.
He hadnโt been looking for comfort โ heโd been looking for a place to hide. And worse, heโd told her we were living together.
Turns out, I wasnโt the romantic โone who got away.โ
I was the emergency backup Airbnb โ and the alibi.
I stepped aside, motioning for her to come in.
โLetโs both have some breakfast,โ I said. โClearly, weโve got a lot to talk about.โ
Sometimes the universe doesnโt give you closure โ it gives you a comedy plot twist with scrambled eggs on the side.