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MidReal Story
The Truth About My Girl
Scenario:When I first started dating Emmy, I thought she was perfect. Sweet, caring, and easy to be around. But over time, her mask slipped.
A year into our relationship, and she’s turned into someone I barely recognize. Arrogant, critical, and always reminding me how her ex did everything better. Every little thing I do feels like a mistake.
Tonight is no different. I’m late picking her up after her girls’ night, thanks to the traffic. The moment I see her, she’s already scowling.
“Seriously? My ex would’ve been here early—and he wouldn’t be driving a crap car like this!”
Create my version of this story
Jamie Bennett
boyfriend, relationships with Emmy and friends, average build, brown hair, conflicted and patient
Emmy Knight
girlfriend, relationship with Jamie and friends, slender with blonde hair, initially sweet but now critical
Natalia Hayes
mutual friend of Jamie and Emmy, supportive of Jamie
It’s been three months since Emmy and I started going out.
When we first got together, she was sweet and caring.
But over time, she’s changed.
She’s always on my case about something.
I feel like I can never do anything right.
If I don’t answer her calls or texts right away, she’ll ask me if I was with another woman.
If I’m late picking her up, she’ll accuse me of not caring about her.
She’s always finding things she doesn’t like about me and trying to change me.
She wants me to be more like her ex, but I’m not him and will never be.
I’ve been patient with her and nice.
I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but it’s getting old.
I feel like I can never make her happy or please her.
I wanted to talk to her about it last night, but she got mad and said I was being sensitive.
Maybe I am, but it’s getting old.
I’m parked in my car outside my apartment, gripping my phone and trying to rehearse what to say.
After three deep breaths, I dial her number.
She answers on the second ring.
"What?""Emmy, we need to talk."
"What’s wrong?"
"I think we need to talk about how your criticism is making me feel."
"You’re being dramatic again."
My hand tightens on the steering wheel, but I force myself to stay calm.
"I’m not trying to be. I just want to explain how I feel."
"Well, explain it then."
I take a deep breath and start.
"I know you’re still hurt about your ex, but you’ve been comparing me to him a lot lately. It’s like nothing I do is good enough."
"That’s not true!"
"Yes, it is. Like last week when I was late picking you up from work because of traffic, you said your ex would’ve been there early."
"And he would’ve! He cared about you and made an effort. You don’t."
I clench my jaw but try to keep my voice calm.
"That’s not true. I do care about you, Emmy. But I’m not him and will never be."
"You could at least try to be more like him!"
I take another deep breath and continue.
"Okay, well, there have been a few other things that have bothered me too. Like when we went out with friends last week and you kept accusing me of flirting with Sarah." "You were flirting with her!"
"No, Emmy, I wasn’t. And even if I was, which I wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter because we’re not even together right now! We’re just talking and getting to know each other. You shouldn’t be getting jealous or upset about things like that."
There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
Then she hangs up.
I stare at the phone, feeling a mix of frustration and relief.
A few minutes later, it buzzes with a text from Emmy.
"I'm sorry, I just don't want to lose you like I lost him."
I stare at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
The streetlight outside casts shadows across my dashboard as I try to think of a response.
I type out a few different things, then delete them.
Finally, I come up with something.
"Maybe we should meet and talk about this. Natalie’s free tonight too. Why don’t we all meet up?"
Before I hit send, I call Natalie to make sure she’s really free.
She answers on the first ring.
"Hey, Jamie."
"Hey, Nat. I need your help with something."
"What’s up?"
"I was just talking to Emmy and she hung up on me. She’s been comparing me to her ex a lot lately and it’s getting old. I was trying to explain how it makes me feel, but she got defensive and said I should be more like him."
"That sounds like Emmy."
"Yeah, well, I was thinking maybe you could help us work through this. You know how volatile she can be."
"Sure thing. When were you thinking?"
"How about now? I’m in my car right now."
"Okay, where are you?"
"I’m outside my apartment."
"Alright, I’ll meet you there in a few minutes."
I hang up and go back to my text conversation with Emmy.
I add one more thing before hitting send.
"Natalie’s going to meet us too." Emmy doesn’t respond right away.
I sit in my car and drum my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait.
This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.
It seems like every few days we have to have it again.
I’ve tried being patient and understanding, but it’s getting old.
My phone buzzes and Emmy’s response appears on the screen.
"I don’t know if I want to talk with Natalie there."
"She’s just trying to help us, Emmy. She knows both of us well and can give us a fresh perspective."
"Fine, but I’m not promising anything."
I pull out of my parking spot and head to Natalia’s apartment complex.
She’s already waiting outside when I pull up, her shoulders tense and a concerned look on her face.
She slides into the passenger seat and gives my arm a reassuring squeeze.
"You’re doing the right thing."
We drive to Emmy’s place in silence, the evening traffic slowing us down.
Every red light feels like another chance to second-guess this intervention.
But I’m determined to see it through.
When Emmy’s building comes into view, Natalia checks her phone and sighs.
"Emmy just texted me. She says she doesn’t want to let us in."
I pull over to the side of the road and park, engine idling.
Natalia tries calling Emmy again, but she doesn’t answer.
The streetlights cast harsh shadows across the dashboard as we wait.
Finally, Emmy texts back.
"Meet me at Café Luna instead."
I exchange a worried look with Natalia.
It’s almost midnight and this feels like another one of Emmy’s control tactics.
But we agree anyway.
Café Luna is only two blocks down the street, so we drive there and park outside.
A few minutes later, Emmy emerges from her building in her signature red coat, chin held high.
She walks right past our car without even looking at us and heads straight for the café.
Natalia and I follow her inside, knowing this conversation could change everything.
Inside Café Luna, Emmy doesn’t even look at us.
She goes straight to the counter and orders her usual vanilla latte.
The midnight fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her face as she stands with her back to us, checking her phone while she waits.
Natalia shifts uncomfortably in the vinyl booth beside me, her fingers drumming against her coffee cup.
When Emmy’s drink arrives, she takes slow, measured sips at the counter, still refusing to turn around.
Five minutes pass like this, the only sound the clinking of cups and the murmur of late-night conversation.
I can feel Emmy’s tension radiating across the room, a palpable force that’s holding us all hostage.
Finally, I stand up and walk over to her.
My heart pounds in my chest as I reach out to tap her shoulder.
Emmy turns around, her eyes meeting mine with a defiance that tells me everything has changed.
I stand beside Emmy at the counter, my hand still hovering near her shoulder.
The café’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her face, making her look pale and drawn.
She stares at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness.
"Emmy, come and sit, please," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the racing of my heart.
She rolls her eyes and clutches her vanilla latte a little tighter before glancing between me and the exit.
After what feels like an eternity, she lets out an exaggerated sigh and walks over to our booth.
Natalia leans forward, her voice gentle but firm.
"Emmy, we’re worried about you. You’ve been shutting us out, and we just want to help."
Emmy takes a deep breath, her fingers tapping nervously against her cup.
"You think I don’t know that? But it’s not that simple—I’m dealing with things you wouldn’t understand."
I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a gentle murmur that won’t carry to the nearby tables.
Her knuckles turn white around her coffee cup, her gaze darting between my face and the exit.
The café’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Emmy’s face, highlighting the slight tremor in her lower lip.
Natalia shifts uncomfortably in the booth beside me, her eyes wide with concern, but she stays silent, letting me take the lead.
Emmy finally looks up, her voice barely a whisper as she says, "I need you to trust me."
I watch her fingers tighten even more around the coffee cup, her knuckles white under the café’s late-night lights.
Her gaze flicks to the exit again, then to the phone on the table in front of her, before finally settling somewhere past my shoulder.
Natalia shifts beside me, reaching for her own drink.
The sound of the late-night barista wiping down tables fills the silence behind us, the soft thud of cloth against wood echoing through the empty café.
Emmy’s phone buzzes with a text, and she quickly flips it over, but not before I catch a glimpse of a name that sends everything falling into place.
I reach across the table, my hand moving slowly toward Emmy’s phone.
The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her face, making her look almost skeletal.
She tenses up, her fingers tightening around the device.
Natalia shifts uncomfortably beside me, her breath catching in her throat as my hand makes contact with Emmy’s trembling one.
The cold metal of Emmy’s rings presses against my palm while she stares at our touching hands.
My other hand lifts to her cheek, feeling the slight dampness there.
"Emmy," I whisper, keeping my voice gentle despite the racing of my heart, "please let me see your phone."
I feel her muscles relax under my hand as she drops it into my palm, the weight of the device heavy in my hand.
The café’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the screen.
My thumb hovers over the message inbox as Emmy watches, her shoulders still tense but no longer defensive.
Natalia shifts uncomfortably beside me, her coffee untouched on the table.
The late-night barista’s cleaning sounds fade into the background as I scroll through Emmy’s recent texts.
Multiple messages from "Mark" appear, each one dated within the past week.
Some are casual check-ins, others more intimate.
My chest tightens as I read the latest exchange from just hours ago, arranging their next meeting.
"Emmy, who is Mark?" I ask, my voice steady but firm.
Her eyes meet mine, a mixture of fear and defiance.
"He's... he's the reason I need your help," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
I set the phone down on the table, my gaze returning to Emmy’s face.
The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her features, but I notice something different.
Her mascara has smudged slightly from crying, making her look younger and more vulnerable than usual.
Despite everything, my hand moves on its own, reaching toward her face where a blonde strand has fallen across her wet cheek.
The familiar scent of her vanilla perfume hits me as I lean in, my fingers brushing against her skin, softer than I remember.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she closes her eyes and lets out a shaky breath.
"Emmy, what has he done?" I ask, my voice barely concealing the urgency I feel.
Her eyes open slowly, meeting mine with a raw honesty that makes my heart ache.
"He promised me everything, but now he's threatening to take it all away," she confesses, her voice breaking.
I lean forward in the booth, my hand still resting on her cheek.
The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the table, making her eyes seem darker than they truly are.
Natalia shifts uncomfortably beside me, gathering her things and preparing to give us some privacy.
Emmy’s vanilla latte sits untouched between us, a stark reminder of the night we were supposed to have before everything fell apart.
"He's been showing up at my workplace," she begins, her voice trembling as she recounts the events of the past few days.
"Sending me threatening messages about exposing private photos and claiming he owns me. He even showed up at my apartment last night."
Her voice cracks on the last words, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.
"I'm too afraid to go home," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
Despite everything that has transpired between us these past few months, seeing her genuine fear makes my protective instincts kick in.
I slide closer to her in the booth, our knees touching beneath the table.
The late-night barista’s cleaning sounds fade into the background as I reach for her trembling fingers, intertwining mine with hers.
Her grip is desperate, but she doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she leans toward me, her breath catching as she searches my eyes with a mix of fear and hope.
"Emmy, you don't have to face this alone," I assure her, squeezing her hand gently.
Natalia pauses by the door, glancing back with a worried expression.
"We'll figure this out together, I promise," I add, my voice filled with determination.
Emmy nods slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.
With my arm around her shoulders, I guide her out of Café Luna, Natalia following closely behind.
As we reach the parking lot, Emmy hesitates by her car, clutching her keys tightly.
"I'll drive you home," I offer, noticing the tremble in her hand.
She doesn't argue, handing over the keys without protest.
The drive to her house is quiet, the tension between us palpable.
I can feel Emmy's gaze on me as I focus on the road ahead.
Natalia sits in the backseat, her presence a reminder that this isn't just about us anymore.
When we finally pull into Emmy's apartment complex, I park behind the building, scanning the dark parking lot for any signs of Mark's car.
The streetlights cast long shadows across the asphalt, illuminating the empty spaces between vehicles.
Emmy's hands shake as she fumbles for her keys at the door, jumping at every small noise.