About a month into seeing him, I saw a text he had sent another woman: he loved her. When I asked him about it, he said she was his ex and that the words didn't mean much on his side. I kept seeing him.
I was 21 and had moved to a new city for a work placement five months earlier. He was 26, worked at a restaurant where I'd given him my number, and lived across the street from me. We started spending time together on August 6. Over the next ten weeks, he became most of my social life.
We cuddled, had sex, talked about things that mattered to us, and made plans. He was there when I had bad days. He told me I was pretty and interesting to talk to, and said he had never pampered anyone this much. We both acknowledged that we acted like a couple. That was the part I could see and feel, even when his explanation about his ex left me uneasy.
About another month passed before she called while we were lying in bed. He showed me the call. That night, he told me he had unfinished business in his home country and needed her help with it. I told him I wasn't asking for a commitment, but I did need him to stop talking to her. He said that was completely fair.
A week later, while he slept in my bed, I went through his phone. I had stopped trusting him, and I crossed a line. I knew it was an invasion of his privacy. I'm not proud of doing it.
There were hour-long calls, more declarations of love, and sexual messages. She knew about me. She had asked whether I was prettier than her, and he had told her no, that she was the prettiest girl in the world. I had been trying to understand a woman described to me as an ex. She had been having conversations with him about me.
Her messages sounded anxious and upset. She complained that he hadn't visited for her last three birthdays. They also had a shared Instagram account. When I had first confronted him, he'd mentioned telling her she could date other people, too. Maybe they had some loose, long-distance arrangement. I still don't know what they called it. He had never explained it to me that way, and the contact he'd agreed to stop had continued.
On October 18, I ended things during a walk. I told him it wasn't fair to be with me without letting me know the whole story. He said that was fair and that he respected whatever I decided. He seemed sad, but he didn't offer an explanation or correct anything I said.
That was familiar by then: he would agree with what I said, and I would still have no idea what his side was. I couldn't tell whether he had deliberately lied or was conflicted and avoiding a difficult conversation.
It's been two days. I'm angry, and I miss him, especially at night and first thing in the morning. This was my first relationship like this, in a city where I'm still mostly alone. After ending it myself, I keep wondering whether I overreacted.
