My last breakup wasn’t just emotionally devastating, it was financially devastating as well. I had no idea ending a relationship would take such a toll on my bank account.
It wasn’t an amicable break up in the slightest.
This was a classic breakup that was messy and fuelled with rage. I found out he’d been cheating on me for awhile, but little did I know that was about to be the least of my worries. We hadn’t been doing so well with the whole relationship thing for a long time, but that didn’t mean his betrayal didn’t hurt. Relationships aren’t always easy, but that didn’t give him the right to cheat just because we were on the rocks.
I acted out of anger but it felt so good.
The saying “when life gives you lemons, squeeze them in other people’s eyes” took on a whole other meaning when I decided to cut multiple small holes in every piece of his clothing. I know it was childish and I should have taken the high road, but I was tired of being walked all over and that seemed like the most rational thing to do. I glided those sharp scissors through his designer clothes, laughing maniacally like a woman scorned.
He retaliated in the worst possible way.
I left all the little cutouts of his clothes in a pile on the kitchen table for him to see when he got home. Obviously, I hadn’t really thought this through. He immediately grabbed my laptop, the very same one he had bought me for my last birthday, and hurled it out the window! It broke into pieces on the pavement after falling four floors and that was the end of that. I realize now that I probably deserved it, but at the time it only made me angrier.
We pretty much said goodbye to our apartment rental deposit.
We shouted and hurled insults at each other without a care in the world before we both moved on to breaking more than just each other’s hearts. He started it by shattering the framed photos of us we had around the apartment, while I followed suit by destroying anything and everything that I had paid for and used to build our home together. The breakup turned into utter chaos when the bits of broken glass and ornaments scored and damaged the parquet floor beneath us, the vacation memory fridge magnets I fired at him smashed the oven door to bits, and the bleach he was pouring over my precious drapes melted the radiator.
It was the ancient front door that really bankrupted me.
I was always told to keep my keys in the inside lock for a quick exit in case of a fire, but this well and truly backfired on me when he stormed out of the apartment when I hadn’t finished my barrage of abuse. I marched out after him without thinking and the door slammed shut behind me. He had his keys in his pocket but mine were still in the door on the other side! We put the argument on pause for the sake of the door but couldn’t push my key out no matter how hard we tried. We called a locksmith and he charged us €3000 to break the door down and replace the lock because of the specific type of old-fashioned lock that was used. I practically fainted.
I had to pay in installments.
It was the end of the month and payday hadn’t arrived yet. He refused to help chip in since it was my fault and used the excuse that if I wanted all my belongings, I’d have to pay it all myself. The only way I could do it was to pay the damage monthly, which took the best part of a year. The lease was in his name so I was the obvious choice to move out, but that meant I had to fork out another two months’ rent on a new deposit.
Honestly, I would have walked away if my dog hadn’t been inside.
I could have replaced everything inside our former home for less than what I paid to break the door down, especially since he had just destroyed my laptop, but my dog is priceless. And yes, I said my dog—there was no way I was going to leave him with that monster.
I did leave one last nasty surprise before I left.
To seal the deal, I did go back to the apartment once more to ensure I’d taken everything I needed and to leave one more parting gift. I made sure to go while he was at work, bought some sardines and carefully sewed them into the hem of the curtains in the bedroom. Who knew my sewing lessons from college would come in handy? I hope he’s still lying in bed wondering where that pungent smell is coming from. And hey, at least I can say I’ve survived the most expensive breakup ever and lived to tell the tale.
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