When an Ex Tried to Ruin Everything—But Failed
Grace hurried home after a long day at work, her mind racing through chores: feed the cat, change clothes, freshen up, and dash off to meet Oliver. Her thoughts fluttered like leaves in the wind, so distracted she barely noticed reaching her doorstep. Then she froze—someone lurked in the shadows by the corner of the building. The silhouette was vague but unsettling.
Her pulse quickened. Frantically, she dug through her bag for the keys. The figure stepped closer, and as his face caught the light, her breath hitched. There stood… Edward. The very man she’d left. The one who’d trapped her in emotional turmoil for a year.
“After me, you’ll never find anyone. Meanwhile, I’ll have moved on in days,” he’d sneered back then, watching her pack. He relished preying on her fears, always striking where it hurt most. His tactics were simple: belittle, intimidate, demean. “You’ll be lost without me,” he’d say. “But I? I’ll thrive.”
And it worked. For months, Grace stayed, convinced she’d never do better. Each attempt to leave was met with the same venomous record. But that day, something shifted.
“I can’t take the cat straight away—my friend has the carrier. I’ll fetch him next week. Just feed him and clean the litter, please,” she said calmly, as if deaf to his threats.
“Why should I? He’s your cat! Walk out, and I’ll dump him in the alley!” he spat, desperation cracking his voice.
“You won’t. You’ve never followed through on a single threat,” she replied, shutting the door behind her for good.
Days later, she found the cat—shaken but alive—huddled near a dustbin. So, he’d finally acted on one promise. And Grace knew then: there was no turning back.
Her new life began smoother than expected. A flat was quickly let. Work piled up, and she buried herself in it. The wedding with Edward never happened. The rings gathered dust in their box. He called later, demanding gifts back—especially the ring. “It’s not yours,” he hissed.
“I’m so proud of you, Grace! You’re finally free,” her best friend, Claire, had hugged her.
“Thanks… But what if he’s right? What if I never find better?”
“Don’t be daft! Let’s make a bet. Walk up to the first bloke in the café, ask him out.”
“Are you mad? I can’t do that!”
“Scared, then?”
Half an hour later, Claire nudged her—”There’s your mark.” A lone man by the window sipped his tea, lost in thought.
“Erm… Hello. I’m Grace. We made a bet, and I had to approach the first man I saw. So… Fancy a date?”
“Why not?” The man grinned. “I’m Oliver. Free tonight—fancy the pictures?”
He was kind, easygoing, lighthearted. During the film, he whispered jokes in her ear. Afterward, he walked her home, took her number, texted her first thing. Grace marveled that it could be this effortless. No pain. No games.
Yet the past refused to fade.
That evening, rushing to meet Oliver, Grace nearly collided with a familiar figure. Edward.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal girl. Too good to visit? Did you even bother with the cat? Or dump him too? How’s life, eh? Found a new fool already? When are you crawling back? Though, mind you, there’s a queue—between Martha from the next street and Daisy from work, I might squeeze you in!”
He reeked of ale, his voice loud and sneering.
“Edward, go home. I haven’t got time for this,” Grace tried to sidestep him.
“Oh, too busy? For what?”
Then—unexpected. A strong hand yanked Edward aside. Oliver stood there.
“Couldn’t reach you, so I came to meet you. Found this instead. Shall I walk you home before he makes a proper scene?”
Edward’s shouts faded behind them as they walked away, not looking back.
“Always wondered what’d drive you to bet on chatting up a stranger in a café,” Oliver said, smiling. “Now I see. After him? You’ve nothing left to fear.”
And Grace realized: it had all been right. That bet. That evening. Especially that evening.