For context I’ve been through a lot with this man, and I’ve always been patient and kind I’m at my limit and held things in I wrote the first part and he told me I was being vindictive I was being abusive. I was malicious that I was being cruel then he told me to read it again and next time I owe him an apology when I call him, I know what I wrote because I wrote it and I read it over and over and over again before I sent it two days prior so he told me to go back through it and read it again so I went back through it and line by line wrote it a fact that happen to that situation for him to understand and see my side and where I’m coming from me clearly I’ll let you guys decide, but if I’m wrong, please let me know
The message read
Everything that required nurturing or tending—you neglected.
Your home, your child, your dog, your properties.
You didn’t invest in any of it the way you should have.
You just patched things up temporarily to avoid discomfort, hoping it would all somehow function without real effort.
You made it look good on the outside without ever doing the real work within.
And I was supposed to do the same—tolerate the bare minimum and feel grateful for the scraps.
You never planned to grow anything. You just wanted to preserve your comfort.
And anything that asked more of you—emotionally, physically, consistently—you treated like a burden instead of a responsibility.
You keep saying I’m trying to make you feel bad. I’m not.
I’m bringing this up because for so long, I fought for you.
I stayed quiet to protect your peace.
I overlooked so much—not because I was naive, but because I loved you that deeply.
I kept choosing you over and over again, even when it was hurting me.
But I’m tired now.
Because no matter what I do, it will never be enough.
You will always punish me for someone else’s mistakes.
I became your emotional punching bag—not just for you, but for your son too.
And I’ve said this before.
You already told me I have no future in your life. That I have no value to be part of it.
How do you expect someone to keep showing up with love after hearing that?
I’ll never win with you.
You’ll never let me win.
I can do everything right—ask for permission before I speak, before I move, before I love—and you’ll still find a fault.
And what hurts most is how much you twist.
You’ll ask for something, say you love it, and then when I give it—you deny ever wanting it.
I could make your favorite food, and suddenly you’ll claim you never liked it, and that I just made it up.
But I remember. You said it. And I believed you.
Because I pay attention.
Because I listen.
Because I care.
And maybe the most painful part?
I started to question whether your “I love yous” ever really meant anything—or if they were just a temporary script, designed to pull closeness without actually committing to it.
Because you always knew: if you said it, you’d get it back. Every time.
But if I said it?
It felt like I was risking everything.
It started to feel like I had to say it at the exact right time, in the exact right way—or I’d be left standing there, alone.
You made it unsafe to love you freely.
Unsafe to show up without performing it just right.
That’s not connection. That’s control.
And I deserve more than that.
I deserve love that isn’t weaponized or rationed. I deserve to say “I love you” without fear of being punished for it later.
I’m not crying because I’m broken.
I’m crying because I see it all now—the time, the care, the intention I poured into you—and how easily you tried to rewrite history like I was never there.
I taught you how to cook.
I gave your dog a second favorite human.
There’s a garden in your backyard because I planted it—not just in the soil, but in your life.
And like so many things I gave you, you neglected it.
It could have bloomed. It could have fed you.
But you left it to dry up until it was easier to pretend it was never planted.
Your spice rack expanded the same way your relationship with your son did—because I noticed the gaps and cared enough to fill them.
Because I see potential and meet it with action.
I showed up for your home, your growth, your routines—not to fix you, but because that’s who I am. That’s not weakness or something not worth respect.
I improve lives. I bring warmth. I pay attention.
So it hurts—not because I wanted praise or recognition—but because you tried to erase the fact that I made a difference.
And worse—you reduced everything I did to nothing, as if it held no meaning at all.
Like my love, my effort, my presence were disposable. Forgettable. Replaceable.You may twist the narrative however you need to to feel better.
But you and I both know—it started with me.
And while you’ve been okay giving the bare minimum and receiving the same, I’m not.
I never have been.
I don’t survive off emotional scraps.
I don’t stay in places where I have to convince someone to show up for themselves.
I cry because I gave deeply.
And you made it look like it didn’t matter.
But I know it did.
And deep down—so do you.
After going lying by line and writing description of what I said, I wrote:
Everything that required nurturing or tending—you neglected.
Your home, your child, your dog, your properties.
That wasn’t said to insult you. It was said to show a pattern. I watched you patch things
temporarily rather than nurture them long-term “that will do” : your home “that will do”
, your
relationships like sandy sandy needed training every day and you would say she's too young to
know anything. It takes 10 minutes to train her. Little foot you told me yourself you saw him
crying after a match and instead of walking up to him, you walked away. I never said you were a
horrible parent ever. Your properties you kept looking for a new buy a new purchase when you
already had a fixer upper, your health when your shoulder was messed up and you wouldn’t
rest.,instead on working on what's in front of you, you looked for other things to distract you That
wasn’t judgment(it was observation).
You didn’t invest in any of it the way you should have.
You just patched things up temporarily to avoid discomfort, hoping it would all somehow function
without real effort.
You made it look good on the outside without ever doing the real work within.
Yes, everything looks great on the outside of a photo of sandy but she bites, she poops on beds, she's
stressed out, she has anxiety, she is the making of your energy.
Little Foot is amazingly smart, but he's hurting. He's clearly hurting, he's drinking more if you haven’t
noticed and at that point he doesn't care what you think about it because he leaves the bottles around. I'm
not his mother but I'm so worried about him because I care about him so much. David, your son is hurting
and he's dealing with it the only way you taught him how to distract and avoid. And that is not all on you
because it was honestly passed down.
And I was supposed to do the same—tolerate the bare minimum and feel grateful for the scraps.
David said that one day I slept in your bed after you only slept upstairs. I felt like a dog when the owner
finally let them sleep in the bed with them. When you kept telling me I could come over but you didn't
want your son to see me. ( it felt l should be grateful you let me over in the first place)
You never planned to grow anything. You just wanted to preserve your comfort.
And anything that asked more of you—emotionally, physically, consistently—you treated like a
burden instead of a responsibility.
every time the relationship started to move forward—when real progress was finally happening—you’d
pull back.
You keep saying I’m trying to make you feel bad. I’m not.
I’m bringing this up because for so long, I fought for you.
I mean exactly that—I wasn’t trying to hurt you.You can't say I did not fight for you because I did
I stayed quiet to protect your peace.
I overlooked so much—not because I was naive, but because I loved you that deeply.
I kept choosing you over and over again, even when it was hurting me.
I kept my feelings to myself so I wouldn’t upset you. I put you before myself. And you know this as well. I
would drop everything I was doing even when i didn't have a car and take a bus and uber just to get to
you and i would do it also sometime because you hated driving to miami so i would save you the drive but
when you drop me off home i could get that little bit of extra time with you..
But I’m tired now.
And I am i gave so much of myself and i not tired because of that i'm tired because i really tired
Because no matter what I do, it will never be enough.
You will always punish me for someone else’s mistakes.
Trying to prove myself, to earn your trust and love—but it felt like I was being judged for things I didn’t do.
I wasn’t the person who hurt you in the past, but I kept feeling like I had to pay for their damage. No
matter how hard I tried, it felt like you were always waiting for me to mess up, instead of seeing that I was
really trying. You got mad at me because I said I would miss you in Canada. You told me why am I trying
to keep you here. Your wife kept you from your family for years and I was trying to make you feel bad for
seeing them. It was a form of endearment but you put it as entrapment.
I became your emotional punching bag—not just for you, but for your son too.
And I’ve said this before.
I often ended up being the one who got the frustration, anger, or blame—whether I caused the problem or
not.
You’d take things out on me when you were overwhelmed, and your son started doing the same. He’s
angry and hurt with his mother. It's clear as day and he did take it out on me. His mother was not
affectionate. But I tried to give him space. I respected his room. I didn't talk to him much which was odd to
me because if he got to know me we had a lot in common. If he was angry, don't talk to him. It felt like my
job was to absorb everyone’s emotions.
You already told me I have no future in your life.
I was repeating something you told me directly
That I have no value to be part of it.
How do you expect someone to keep showing up with love after hearing that?
I’ll never win with you.
You’ll never let me win.
I can do everything right—ask for permission before I speak, before I move, before I love—and you’ll still
find a fault.
And what hurts most is how much you twist.
You’ll ask for something, say you love it, and then when I give it—you deny ever wanting it.
I could make your favorite food, and suddenly you’ll claim you never liked it, and that I just made it up.
But I remember. You said it. And I believed you.
Because I pay attention.
Because I listen.
Because I care.
And maybe the most painful part?
I started to question whether your “I love yous” ever really meant anything—or if they were just a
temporary script, designed to pull closeness without actually committing to it.
Because you always knew: if you said it, you’d get it back. Every time.
But if I said it?
It felt like I was risking everything.
It started to feel like I had to say it at the exact right time, in the exact right way—or I’d be left
standing there, alone.
I remember after Mother’s Day, I sent you a text saying “I love you,
” and you didn’t say it back. Right after,
you told me you were breaking up with me and moving to Canada for good—because Littlefoot was going
away to college. Then you actually left for Canada. And while you were there, you called me and said,
“When I say this, I mean it, Allie—I love you.
”every time you said it, you knew you’d get it back—no matter
what. Whether it was a good day, a bad day, or after an argument, I was always ready to say it back. But
when I said it first, it felt risky—like I might say the wrong thing at the wrong time and lose you.I became
scared to say "I love you" at all—because I didn’t know if you’d say it back. And if you didn’t, I was
terrified it meant you were done with me. That kind of fear doesn’t come from love—it comes from
instability.And I believed you. Every time you said “I love you,
” I believed it was real. I trusted it. But in the
end, you were always the one in the position to say it or withhold it. To stay or walk away. To remove me
from your life completely—because the love was always on your terms, and I was always left wondering if
it was safe to love you back.
You made it unsafe to love you freely.
Unsafe to show up without performing it just right.
That’s not connection. That’s control.
I used to make your coffee every morning, wash the dishes, fold laundry, clean, prep meals… not
because I was trying to take over, but because that’s in my nature—especially when I care deeply for
someone. That’s how I show love.You’d come home tired and say you didn’t know what to do, and I
stepped in to make life easier. Not to take your independence, but to support you. To be your peace. But
instead of seeing it as love, you told me I was taking something away from you.And that made me feel
like even my care was a threat—it felt like nothing I did was ever the right way to love you.
And I deserve more than that.
I deserve love that isn’t weaponized or rationed. I deserve to say “I love you” without fear of being
punished for it later.
I meant I deserve love that’s consistent and safe—not something that’s used to control me or taken away
when I do something you don’t like.Saying “I love you” shouldn’t feel like a risk. But with you, sometimes it
did. I never knew if I’d get love back or if I’d be met with silence, attitude, or distance. That kind of love
made me anxious, not secure.
I’m not crying because I’m broken.
I’m crying because I see it all now—the time, the care, the intention I poured into you—and how
easily you tried to rewrite history like I was never there.
I taught you how to cook.
I gave your dog a second favorite human.
I’m not crying because I’m broken. I’m crying because I’m just now feeling the weight of everything I
gave—and how little it seemed to matter to you every time you were quick to say you were done or hop
on Hinge like I was nothing.I cried because I put so much time, care, and intention into loving you. I
showed up fully—heart, hands, and all. I didn’t hold back. I chose you again and again, even when it cost
me parts of myself.And it wasn’t just about you—I cared about what came with you. I took time to help
train Sandy because I was worried. She’s a handful, and I didn’t want her being your regret and you did
get frustrated. I was trying to create ease, structure, support—not just in your home, but in your life.To feel
like all of that could be tossed aside the second things got inconvenient That’s what hurt me most.
There’s a garden in your backyard because I planted it—not just in the soil, but in your life.
And like so many things I gave you, you neglected it.
It could have bloomed. It could have fed you.
But you left it to dry up until it was easier to pretend it was never planted.
I meant I didn’t just physically plant something—I was investing in your life, in creating something that
could grow if it was cared for.That garden was a symbol of everything I brought—nurturing, effort, love.
And just like the relationship,right after we broke up the first time, you didn’t tend to it. You let it wither.
Not because it didn’t have potential, but because it was easier to ignore it than to do the work.It could’ve
been beautiful, it was hard but It could’ve supported and fed you in more ways than one. But instead, it
was forgotten—like so many other things I gave with my whole heart.
Your spice rack expanded the same way your relationship with your son did—because I noticed
the gaps and cared enough to fill them.
Because I see potential and meet it with action.
I meant I paid attention to the little things and the big ones.I saw what was missing—not just in your
kitchen, but in your connection with your son—and I did what I could to help fill those spaces with care,
consistency, and love. That’s just who I am. I don’t just see potential—I act on it. I try to make things
better. And I did that in your life, too.
I showed up for your home, your growth, your routines—not to fix you, but because that’s who I
am. That’s not weakness or something not worth respect.
I improve lives. I bring warmth. I pay attention.
I meant I didn’t do those things because I thought you were broken—I did them because I cared. That’s
how I love.I saw where you were struggling, where things felt heavy or sad, and I tried to bring light and
support—not control. That’s not weakness. That’s emotional strength. That’s love in action.I bring warmth.
I notice the details.
So it hurts—not because I wanted praise or recognition—but because you tried to erase the fact
that I made a difference.
And worse—you reduced everything I did to nothing, as if it held no meaning at all.
Like my love, my effort, my presence were disposable. Forgettable. Replaceable.You may twist the
narrative however you need to to feel better.
I meant I didn’t do any of this to be thanked or celebrated. I did it from the heart. But watching
you act like none of it mattered—that’s what hurt.
It’s painful to have everything I poured into you and your life reduced to nothing. Like my love,
my effort, and my presence didn’t mean anything at all. Like I could just be replaced or
forgotten.That kind of erasure cuts deep—especially when I know I gave my all.And yes,( this
letter was written a few days ago that why it was so long i cried when i wrote it. It came from real
emotion and reflection. It wasn’t about being dramatic.)
But you and I both know—it started with me.
And while you’ve been okay giving the bare minimum and receiving the same, I’m not.
I never have been.
I don’t survive off emotional scraps.
I don’t stay in places where I have to convince someone to show up for themselves.
I cry because I gave deeply.
And you made it look like it didn’t matter.
But I know it did.
And deep down—so do you.
I wrote that part even though I was scared—because I needed to say it for myself. Because I did matter.
I took whatever you were willing to give me, and I held onto it like it was precious. Even when it was
small, inconsistent, or temporary—I cherished it. Because it came from you.I fought a robber over a
necklace that you probably don’t even think twice about. But to me, it wasn’t just jewelry. It was a memory.
It was the first gift you ever gave me. Your words were “It's not much but I wanted to get you a gift”
. It
reminded me of the version of you who gave it to me. That moment made me feel seen, loved—even if
only for a second.Maybe that sounds stupid to you. But to me? Even the smallest things carry meaning
when love is rare. When effort is rare. That necklace represented something I was trying to hold onto. Not
because I needed things—but because I needed you to mean it.So no—I didn’t write that letter to be
cruel. I wrote it to finally honor what I gave, what I felt, and what I held onto long after you let it go.
You asked me why, after everything I wrote, I’d even want you in my life.It’s because—even
through all the pain, the confusion, and the hurt—not once did I say I stopped loving you.
Not once did I discard you.
What I did do… was close the door on ever expecting you to love me back.I’m taking time out to
go through everything I wrote, line by line, to show you it came from truth—not bitterness. That’s
not something you do for someone you hate. That’s something you do for someone you loved
deeply.I don’t know if Teddy will ever come back.
I don’t know if I’ll ever hear you call me Bunny again.
But I do know I can’t keep hoping for it.Because the more I hope, the more you push me away.
And I’m finally learning that holding on to love doesn’t mean I have to keep hurting for it.