When the Ex Tried to Ruin Everything but Fell Short

**Diary Entry – 9th May**

Victoria hurried home after a gruelling day at work. Her mind raced through chores—feed the cat, change, get ready, and rush to meet Oliver. Thoughts swirled like autumn leaves, and she barely noticed reaching her building. Then she froze—by the corner, in the shadows, stood a figure. Unclear but unsettling.

Her pulse quickened. She fumbled for her keys as the shape stepped closer. When the streetlight caught his face, she went cold. It was James. The same James she’d left. The one who’d trapped her in misery for a year.

*”You’ll never find anyone after me. Meanwhile, give it days, and I’ll move on,”* he’d sneered while she packed. He loved preying on her fears, twisting the knife where it hurt most. His tactic? Demean, intimidate, make her feel worthless. “You’ll rot alone. I’ll thrive.”

And it worked. For months, she stayed, convinced she’d never escape. Each time she tried leaving, he’d replay the same script. Until one day, something snapped.

*”I can’t take Whiskers yet—Lucy’s got the carrier. I’ll fetch him next week. Just feed him, clean the litter,”* she’d said, calm as ice, ignoring his threats.

*”Why should I? He’s yours! Leave, and I’ll dump him!”* he’d spat.

*”You won’t. You’ve never followed through on a single threat.”* She shut the door—for good.

Days later, she found Whiskers trembling in an alley. Alive, but barely. So, he’d kept one promise. And Victoria knew: no turning back.

Starting over was easier than she’d feared. She rented a flat, buried herself in work. The wedding to James never happened. The rings gathered dust. He called later, demanding gifts back—especially the engagement ring. *”It’s not yours,”* he’d hissed.

*”I’m proud of you, Vic! Finally free,”* her mate Emma had hugged her.

*”Thanks… But what if he’s right? What if I never find better?”*

*”Rubbish! Bet you a fiver—walk up to the first bloke in that café and ask him out.”*

*”Are you mad? I can’t just—”*

*”Scared, then?”*

Half an hour later, Emma nudged her—*”Him.”* A lone bloke by the window, sipping tea.

*”Hi… I’m Victoria. Lost a bet. Had to approach the first man I saw. Fancy a date?”*

*”Why not?”* He grinned. *”I’m Oliver. Free tonight—fancy the cinema?”*

Kind, easygoing, effortless. During the film, he whispered jokes. Afterwards, he walked her home, took her number, texted first thing. Victoria couldn’t believe it—no games, no pain.

But the past wasn’t done.

Tonight, rushing to meet Oliver, she collided with a familiar frame. James.

*”Well, if it isn’t the runaway. Too good to visit? Cat’s gone too, eh? Or did you abandon him? Found another bloke yet? My schedule’s tight—between Sarah next door and Hannah from work, but I’ll squeeze you in!”*

Drunk. Louder. Crueller.

*”James, go home. I’ve got plans,”* she tried sidestepping.

*”Too busy for me?”*

Then—a hand yanked him back. Oliver stood there.

*”You didn’t answer. Came to meet you. Let’s go before he embarrasses himself further.”*

James shouted obscenities, but they walked on, unshaken.

*”Always wondered what’d make a woman approach a stranger,”* Oliver said, smiling. *”Now I know. After surviving that? You’ve nothing left to fear.”*

And Victoria realised—every step led here. Even that silly bet. Especially that night.

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