She suggested I come stay with them for a while, but that felt like letting him win somehow. This was my home. I didn’t want to be chased out of it.
Instead, I finally did what I should have done days ago. I filed for a restraining order. The process was surprisingly straightforward. I had the recording, security footage of multiple incidents, text messages, emails, and witnesses.
Mom stayed another night and Dad came over the next day to install one of those Ring doorbell cameras as extra security. They were worried, and honestly, so was I. This wasn’t the Fabian I thought I knew. Or maybe it was, and I just hadn’t seen it before.
Four days passed quietly. No texts, no calls, no unexpected visitors. I started to relax a little, to feel like maybe it was over. I went to work, stopped at the grocery store on the way home. Normal everyday things. I even went to dinner with Julia and some other friends, though I was careful not to post anything on social media about where we were going.
Then yesterday, I came home to find a manila envelope that had been slipped under my door. No name, no address, just a blank envelope. Inside was a handwritten letter from Fabian, twelve pages long, detailing everything he claimed to love about me, every memory he cherished, every plan he’d had for our future.
The last page was different. The handwriting got messier, more aggressive. He wrote that if he couldn’t have me, he’d make sure no one would want me, that he had videos of me that would be embarrassing if they got out, that he knew things about my dad’s business that could cause problems.
I felt sick reading it. There were no compromising videos. We’d never made any, but the threat itself was violating, and whatever he thought he knew about my dad’s business was probably either made up or misunderstood.
Still, the fact that he’d resort to threats… I called my dad, then the police. They took the letter as evidence of a restraining order violation. The officer who came seemed bored, like this was routine, but she dutifully took my statement and said they’d look into it. I wasn’t confident much would happen.
Around 3:00 a.m., I heard a noise from my balcony. My apartment is on the second floor, and the balcony connects to a fire escape. I froze, listening. Another sound, like someone testing the sliding door.
I called 911 whispering into the phone. The dispatcher told me to lock myself in the bathroom while officers responded. I grabbed my phone and keys and did as she said, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Through the bathroom door, I heard my sliding door open, footsteps in my living room, someone calling my name softly.
Fabian.
I don’t remember much of what happened next. The police arrived quickly. I heard shouting, a crash like furniture being knocked over. When they finally knocked on the bathroom door, telling me it was safe to come out, I was shaking so badly I could hardly stand.
Fabian had been arrested for breaking and entering, violating the restraining order, and resisting arrest. One of the officers told me he appeared to be intoxicated and had become combative when they tried to handcuff him. He’d knocked over my coffee table, breaking the glass top, and several framed photos.
I spent the rest of the night at my parents house.
In the morning, I received a call that Fabian had been released on bail, but was ordered to wear an ankle monitor and stay at least 500 ft away from me, my apartment, and my workplace. If he violated these terms, he’d be immediately arrested again.
After that call, I sat in my childhood bedroom and finally broke down. Not delicate tears, but ugly gasping sobs that left me exhausted. Mom came in and just held me while I cried.
When I finally calmed down, Mom asked what I wanted to do next. Did I want to move to a new apartment? Did I want to press additional charges? I didn’t have answers. I still don’t. I’m writing this from my parents guest room, surrounded by childhood stuffed animals and high school trophies. I feel simultaneously like a scared little girl and an angry woman who’s been pushed too far.
The police called this afternoon to say Fabian violated the terms of his release by removing his ankle monitor. They’re looking for him, but so far haven’t located him. They advised me to stay somewhere he wouldn’t think to look just as a precaution.
So, that’s where things stand right now. I’m hiding in my parents house while the police search for my ex-boyfriend who broke into my apartment after threatening to release non-existent videos of me. All because I discovered he was using me for my dad’s money.
I keep thinking about that moment in the kitchen, listening to him laugh about how convenient I was. How I just cut the pie and smiled and served dessert like nothing was wrong. I wish I’d confronted him then and there. I wish I’d thrown the pie in his face and walked out. I wish I’d never met him at all.
But it’s too late for wishes now. Now I just need to figure out what happens.
