The past has a way of resurfacing when we least expect it, and for me, it came in the form of my ex. After three years together, he cheated, lied, and then ghosted me completely. One night he was at my apartment, the next day he disappeared—no calls, no replies, nothing. I even reached out to his family, but they ignored me, and that’s when I realized he’d simply chosen to vanish.

Months later, I ran into him at a party, where he showed up with another woman. To make it worse, I overheard her saying they’d “been together for almost a year.” Whether he was juggling both of us or she couldn’t count, I didn’t care anymore. I had already moved on from the shock to the realization of just how absurd it all was.

But then, out of the blue, he called me one night saying he “desperately needed my help.” I laughed, said “no way,” and hung up. Moments later, his sister texted me, calling me a monster because he was supposedly lost in a dangerous neighborhood with a dying phone battery. The same sister who ignored me months earlier when I was desperately searching for him after he ghosted me.

Later, I found out the truth—he wasn’t with his girlfriend but heading to meet another woman when he got lost. The irony was almost funny. After betraying and abandoning me, I was still the first person he thought to call for help. But this time, I didn’t save him. And honestly, that was the closure I didn’t know I needed.