She said, “If you can’t handle me spending weekends with my ex, maybe we’re not right for each other.”

I replied, “You’re spot on.”

Then I accepted the job transfer to Singapore I’d been turning down for her.

When she texted, “What’s your weekend like?” I sent a selfie from CHI airport.

I’m 31, male, and I’d been with Zoe, 29, for three years—cohabiting for one. Things were solid until her ex, Ethan, moved back to town six months ago. Suddenly, she had poetry club every Saturday.

Except poetry club was just her and Ethan at his place, reconnecting as friends.

When I voiced my unease, she hit me with: he’s just a friend now. We dated for like two months five years ago. You’re being paranoid.

Fine. I tried to be the supportive boyfriend.

Then poetry club turned into Saturday and Sunday coffee dates. Then Friday game nights got added, because Ethan was struggling with his mom’s illness.

The breaking point came three weeks ago.

I’d been offered a huge promotion to lead our Singapore office. $140,000 salary, full relocation, a two-bedroom apartment covered for a year. Dream gig.

But I declined it twice because Zoe couldn’t bear leaving her family.

That Saturday, she was prepping for poetry club again—hair styled, new skirt, perfume she never wore for our dinners out.

“Sure you don’t want to skip today?” I asked. “We could try that new ramen spot.”

She sighed. “God, Alex, we’ve been over this. Ethan’s just a friend. If you can’t trust me spending weekends with my ex, maybe we’re not right for each other.”

I stared at her for a moment.

“You’re spot on.”

Her face cycled through a dozen emotions. “Alex, I didn’t mean—no.”

“You’re right,” I said. “This isn’t working.”

I went to our bedroom and emailed my boss. I’ll take the Singapore role. Can start in two weeks.

Zoe followed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just frustrated.”

“I’m accepting a job offer,” I said. “You should probably crash at your parents’ tonight. Or Ethan’s. Up to you.”

“Are you seriously dumping me over this?”

“You just said we shouldn’t be together.”

“I’m agreeing.”

She started crying. Not sad tears. Furious ones.

“You’re being absurd,” she snapped. “It’s just friendship.”

“Cool,” I said. “Be friends. I’ll be in Singapore.”

She grabbed her bag and stormed out. “You’ll regret this.”

Twenty minutes later, my phone lit up.

Babe, let’s talk. You can’t in 3 years like this. I’ll stop seeing Ethan if it bothers you. Alex, this is childish.

I didn’t reply. I started packing.

Update One

The past week was eye-opening.

After our split, Zoe went straight to Ethan’s. I know because she posted a story from his couch holding a coffee mug, captioned, “When life throws curveballs at 2:00 a.m.”

Her friend Tara texted me: “Did you two really break up?”

“Me?” asked Zoe. “She suggested it.”

“She says you’re moving to Singapore.”

“Yep.”

“But she told everyone you’d never leave because you’re too tied to your sister.”

“My sister lives in California,” I said. “I see her once a year.”

Meanwhile, I was busy. I gave my two weeks’ notice, shipped stuff to Singapore, found someone to take over my lease. The company handled everything—movers, flights, temporary housing.

Zoe tried to swing by the apartment while I was packing. I’d already changed the locks. She wasn’t on the lease—just stayed over so often she practically lived there.

“Alex, I know you’re in there,” she called through the door. “We need to talk.”

I texted: “Your stuff’s boxed by the door. Take it.”

“I’m not taking it because I’m not leaving,” she wrote back. “This is crazy.”

“The lease is in my name,” I told her. “You never officially moved in. Remember? You kept your parents’ address for mail.”

That was her tax-dodging trick—claiming she lived at home to skip city taxes. It backfired perfectly.

She left, but not before telling our friends I was having a midlife crisis and ditching everything for a fancy job.

Then Ethan’s truth spilled.

My friend Liam works at the same fitness center as Ethan. He overheard him on the phone.

“Yeah, she’s basically single now,” Ethan said. “Her boyfriend’s freaking out. No, babe, I told you—Zoe and I are just friends. Yes, I’m still coming to your cousin’s party.”

Turns out Ethan has a girlfriend—Sophia—who lives two hours away and visits every other weekend, when Zoe had “family commitments.”

Liam sent me screenshots from Ethan’s gym group chat. Two months old.

Guys, this girl I’m seeing is wild. Her boyfriend thinks we’re doing poetry club.

I forwarded them to Zoe with one word: curious.

She called fifteen times. I was busy booking my flight.

Update Two

My flight was Saturday at 4 p.m., the same day Zoe had poetry club for three months straight.

That morning, she showed up with her mom, Karen, and her brother, Luke, in full intervention mode.

“Alex, honey,” Karen began. “Zoe told us about your mental health spiral.”

“What spiral?”

“Uprooting your life to move across the globe,” Karen said. “It’s a cry for help.”

“It’s a 70% raise in a director role,” I said.

Luke jumped in. “What about Zoe? You can’t just abandon her.”

“She ended it,” I said. “I’m honoring her choice.”

“She didn’t mean it literally,” Zoe snapped.

“Then don’t make ultimatums you don’t mean,” I said.

Karen tried another attack. “What about the apartment? Zoe’s been living here.”

“No,” I said. “She’s been staying over. Her mail goes to your house. She’s not on any bills. Legally, she’s a guest.”

“You’re really abandoning her over one friendship?” Luke asked.

I showed them Ethan’s gym chat screenshots.

Silence.

Karen paled. “Is this real?”

Zoe flushed. “It’s out of context.”

“What context makes his girlfriend think we’re doing poetry club?”

“Okay.”

They left after Zoe called me manipulative for snooping on Ethan.

“I didn’t snoop,” I said. “Liam shared because he thought I deserved to know.”

At 1:00 p.m., I posted a photo on social media.

New chapter starts now. Singapore bound.

Comments flooded in.

Wait, what?

Dude, when did this happen?

Is this why Zoe’s been sobbing on her stories?

At 3:30 p.m., while boarding, Zoe texted: “What’s your weekend like? Can we talk?”

I sent a selfie from the gate, my Singapore flight boarding in the background.

Her reply: “This isn’t funny, Alex.”

“Not trying to be,” I wrote. “Boarding in 10.”

“You’re really leaving?”

“You really thought I’d stay after you chose your ex over us?”

“I didn’t choose him.”

“Every weekend for three months says different.”

“I’m coming to the airport.”

“I’m through security,” I texted. “Bye, Zoe.”

I turned off my phone and enjoyed the flight.

Update Three

Singapore is unreal.

The company apartment is stunning—glass walls, city skyline view, steps from the office. My new team’s sharp, and I’m actually excited about work for the first time in ages.

But the drama didn’t stop.

Zoe went wild online, posting a rant about how I ditched her without warning, refused to fix our relationship, and chose a paycheck over love.

The comments weren’t kind.

Didn’t you dump him for Ethan?

Girl, you were at Ethan’s every weekend.

Team Alex.

She deleted it fast.

Then the real bomb dropped.

Sophia—Ethan’s girlfriend—messaged me online.

“Hey,” she wrote. “I’m Ethan’s girlfriend… or was. I saw your ex’s posts about you moving to Singapore. Ethan said she was obsessed with him. That’s not true, is it?”

I sent her everything: poetry club lies, gym chat screenshots, the timeline.

She was crushed, but thankful.

Then she sent me Ethan’s text to her.

Zoe’s just lonely because her boyfriend’s always working. She needs a friend. She’s cute, but nothing like you, babe. Her boyfriend’s a nobody. Probably makes 50k in tech.

I made 75K. Now I make 140K.

Nice try, Ethan.

Sophia dumped him publicly, posting the screenshots with hashtags like #cheater and #poetryclubfail.

Ethan called me from three numbers.

“Bro, control your girl. She’s ruining me.”

“Not my girl,” I said. “Not my problem.”

“This is between me and Zoe.”

“You had no right to sleep with my girlfriend every weekend.”

“We didn’t.”

“Don’t care, Ethan. I’m in Singapore. Handle your mess.”

He blamed Zoe for seducing him. Zoe blamed Ethan for manipulating her. They’re perfect for each other.

Update Four

Zoe pulled a wild card.

She flew to Singapore.

She showed up at my office building. Security blocked her. Thank God for corporate gatekeepers.

She waited outside for four hours until I left for lunch.

“Alex, we need to talk.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Terra follows your coworker online,” she said. “Saw the building in his posts.”

Stalker-level dedication.

“Zoe, you can’t be here.”

“I flew 9,000 miles,” she said. “You owe me coffee.”

Against my instincts, I agreed. One coffee, public spot.

She looked rough—hair messy, no makeup, the same hoodie from her stories all week.

“I messed up,” she started.

“Which part?” I asked. “The ultimatum? The Ethan lies? All of it?”

“I thought I could have both,” she said. “That you’d always stay.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you always did,” she said. “You never pushed back. Never called me out.”

“You thought I was a pushover.”

She cried. “That’s not—Alex…”

“You told everyone I’d never leave because I’m too close to my sister. You lied about poetry club for months. You slept with Ethan while I turned down my dream job for you.”

“It was only twice.”

“Oh,” I said. “Just twice. Totally fine then.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Neither did our relationship, apparently.”

She showed me her phone. “I’ve changed. Blocked Ethan. Started therapy. I’m fixing myself.”

“Good for you,” I said, “but I’m done.”

“You’ve been here a month,” she insisted. “You can’t be over me.”

“I was over you the second you said we shouldn’t be together.”

Then she played her desperate card.

“I’m pregnant.”

I laughed.

“No, you’re not.”

“How do you—”

“We haven’t slept together in two months,” I said. “You were always exhausted after poetry club… unless it’s Ethan’s.”

Her face fell.

“I’m not pregnant,” she admitted. “I just needed you to care.”

“I cared for three years,” I said. “You didn’t notice until I stopped.”

She flew back that night, texting: “I’ll wait for you however long it takes.”

I blocked her.

Update Five

Zoe’s waiting lasted two weeks.

She’s now dating her yoga instructor, Liam, posting about how the right person finds you when you’re healing, and sometimes your soulmate’s been at the studio all along.

Terra spilled the tea. Zoe’s practically moved into his place after three weeks.

Patterns repeat.

Then Ethan hit me up on LinkedIn.

“Heard you’re thriving in Singapore. Got a job offer there myself. Let’s grab a drink. Clear things up.”

This guy thought we’d be pals.

No thanks. Good luck.

“Come on, bro,” he wrote. “Let it go.”

“You’re the problem, Ethan,” I answered. “Zoe meant nothing to you.”

He took the job anyway.

And guess what? His apartment’s in my building. Company housing deal.

I ran into him in the lobby the second week—with a girl, not Sophia, who looked barely 20.

“Alex, bro,” he said, grinning. “Meet Lily. Lily, my friend, Alex.”

“We’re not friends, Ethan.”

Lily looked puzzled. Ethan flushed.

“Don’t be like that,” he muttered. “We’re neighbors.”

“I’m moving soon,” I added.

I wasn’t, but he didn’t need to know.

Lily looked him up that night, found Sophia’s tagged posts, and dumped him in the building’s group chat by mistake.

“Ethan, you’re the poetry club cheater. Done.”

Two hundred residents saw it.

Security now calls him Poetry Guy.

Final Update

Zoe’s fling with Liam imploded. Shocker.

Turns out Liam was “just friends” with his ex, having training sessions every weekend. Zoe caught them in a very compromising yoga pose.

She messaged me on a platform I forgot to block.

“Now I get how you felt. I’m sorry.”

I left her on read.

The real karma came unexpectedly.

Zoe’s tax dodge—claiming she lived with her parents to avoid city taxes—got reported. Possibly Sophia, who works in state revenue and doesn’t take kindly to fraud.

Zoe owed three years of back taxes, penalties, and interest—about $20,000.

Her parents bailed her out, but made her move home for real.

Ethan’s still in Singapore, but his reputation followed.

The poetry club story spread through our industry. It’s a small world. He’s had zero dates from work events. Still calls me bro in the elevator.

I ignore him.

Terra reached out last week.

“Zoe’s sorry and working on herself,” she said. “Wants to know if you’re dating.”

Yep.

Seeing Clare.

She’s Australian, works in design, laughs at the poetry club story, and has no exes she meets weekly.

My six-month review came—another raise, permanent role. The company wants me long-term.

I said yes instantly.

Zoe’s latest post was about growing through pain and how sometimes people leave so you can find yourself.

Comments disabled to those saying I should have fought for the relationship.

She told me we shouldn’t be together if I couldn’t handle her ex.

I took her at her word.

To those saying I was too harsh: I passed up a life-changing job twice for someone cheating while calling me paranoid. Not harsh enough.

To those asking if I regret leaving: I’m earning nearly double, living in an incredible city, dating someone who values me. And Ethan sees me thriving daily in the building where everyone calls him Poetry Guy.

My only regret? Not taking the job the first time.

Oh—and Zoe, since I know you’re lurking on fake accounts: Claire and I are planning a Bali getaway. No exes or poetry clubs involved. She’s happy without them.

Cheers from Singapore.

Edit: Stop asking for Ethan’s LinkedIn. Let’s not go there.

Edit two: Yes, Sophia works in revenue. Yes, she reported Zoe. No, I didn’t ask her to, but I’m not complaining.

Edit three: To those saying it’s fake because Ethan’s in my building—it’s corporate housing. My company has a deal with the complex. Five others from my industry live here.

Singapore is big, but professional circles are tight.