They say love is blind. Mine didn’t just blind me—it nearly left me homeless, stuck with a bill for $8,437.63, all because

I trusted the wrong man. I met Brandon at the bookstore café where I worked part-time.

He was charming, ambitious, and said all the right things. Within a year, we moved in together.

He offered to cover rent and utilities, saying his freelance income was “fluctuating,” while I handled food, chores, and everything else.

“I’m saving for our future,” he said, looking me in the eye. I believed him. Three years passed. Then one day,

a letter arrived—a legal notice for unpaid rent. My name was the only one on the lease.

The balance? $8,437.63. I was shocked. I called the landlord, and they confirmed: Brandon had never been on the lease.

He’d forged my signature, stopped paying rent six months ago, and pocketed the money.

I stayed quiet. That night, he acted like everything was normal—

lit candles, talked about our “future house,” even kissed my forehead. But I checked his phone.

That’s when I met Kelsey.

The woman he’d been,

seeing behind my back, the one he was condo-hunting with. In one message, he even bragged about tricking me into paying rent I didn’t know I owed.

So I got even. While he went on his “business trip” (aka romantic getaway), I cracked raw eggs into his precious sneaker collection—

his pride and joy—and changed the locks. When he came back, he couldn’t get in. He freaked out.

I let him stew. Eventually, he begged. I told him the cost of getting his things back: $8,437.63,

the exact amount he stole. He paid. Every cent. He texted, “You ruined everything.” I replied,

Actually, I saved myself. And that’s worth every broken egg.”

Now, when I walk past sneaker shops, I don’t get mad—I smile.

Some people collect shoes. I collect lessons. And the biggest one?

When someone shows you who they are—believe them the first time. Not the third year.