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.