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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!”
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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
I met Emmy in college; she was sweet and caring.
We were friends before we dated.
Over time, things changed.
She started to get critical of me.
Nothing I ever did was good enough.
She'd always bring up her ex, saying how he was better than me.
Emmy would get upset when I'd tell her that if she loved him so much, then she should go back to being with him.
I tried my best to make her happy, but it seemed like no matter what I did, it was never enough.
Things started to fall apart.
We'd argue more and more.
She'd get mad at me for looking at other girls.
I never did anything but look.
I didn't want to lose her, so I tried hard to make things work between us.
It got to the point where I'd do anything just to keep her happy and in a good mood.
If I didn't, she would be all over my case about something I did or didn't do.
Sometimes when we would go out with our friends, she would be nice, but as soon as we were alone, she would get on my case about something I said or did when we were out.
I tried to tell her that I was the same guy when we were out as I was when we were alone, but she didn't believe me.
She would always say that I was different when we were out, and that she liked the way I acted when we were with our friends.
I tried to be more like that around her, but it seemed like nothing I did was ever good enough.
I started to feel like I was walking on eggshells around her.
I never knew what would set her off.
I started to feel like I was in a relationship with a ticking time bomb.
I didn't know how much more of this crap I could take.
I was starting to feel like I was losing myself in the process of trying to keep her happy.
I didn't know if I could keep doing this for much longer.
"Seriously? My ex would've been here early—and he wouldn't be driving a crap car like this!"
Emmy snapped at me as soon as she got into my car after her girls’ night out.
She had been drinking, and it made her even more mouthy than usual.
I sighed and started the car up, not wanting to hear another one of her stories about how great her ex was. We drove back to her apartment in silence; she stared out the window while I gripped the steering wheel tightly.
Her words about her ex being here early echoed in my head.
I hated how she always compared me to him.
It felt like no matter what I did, it wasn't good enough because it wasn't him doing it.
At a red light, I glanced over at the next car and saw a couple laughing together.
They looked happy, something Emmy and I hadn't been in months.
The light turned green, and they drove off before I could see them any longer.
When we got to Emmy's apartment, instead of getting out and walking her to her door like I normally did, I stayed in the car and waited for her to get out.
She looked at me curiously but didn't say anything as she got out of the car. She stood there waiting for me to get out and walk with her to her door like I always did, but tonight I didn't move from my seat in the driver’s side.
She looked at me confused as she waited for me to get out of the car and walk with her to her door like I always did.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep myself from getting out of the car.
She looked at me, waiting for me to get out and walk with her to her door like I always did.
When she realized I wasn't going to get out of the car, she slammed the door shut and stormed up her driveway.
I stayed seated in the car as she stormed up her driveway.
Instead of waiting on her porch for me like she usually did, Emmy went right inside her house.
I sat in the car with the engine still idling as I watched her go inside.
After a few minutes, I saw her come back outside and stand on her front porch looking at my car.
She stood there with an expectant glare, waiting for me to get out of the car and come talk to her like I usually did after dropping her off.
When I didn't move from my seat in the car, she huffed and turned around, going back inside. The porch light was bright and harsh, making it so I could see her clearly through my windshield.
It cast deep shadows across her face; a face that used to make my heart race when I looked at it but now just made me feel exhausted.
After a few more minutes, Emmy disappeared into her house again, probably going to bed.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent a text to Natalia: "You were right about Emmy. I'm done."
I turned off the engine and drove away, finally feeling the weight lift.
Back at my apartment, I sat in the dark, staring at my laptop screen.
I knew Emmy's email password would be easy to guess; she always used the same one for everything.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I typed in her pet's name and birthday.
Access granted.
The familiar Gmail interface loaded on my screen, hundreds of unread messages waiting for me.
I clicked on her sent folder first, scanning for my name.
There, in an email chain with her friends from last week, was it.
The subject line read "Jamie problems."
"Why do you even bother with him?" one of her friends had written.
Emmy's reply was swift: "Because he doesn't know I'm just using him until something better comes along."
I felt my stomach drop as I read her words, the truth hitting me harder than any argument ever had.
My hands hovered over the keyboard, my eyes fixed on the screen in front of me.
The cursor blinked in the "Change Password" field, taunting me.
I typed in a new password, something Emmy would never guess: her birthday backwards.
Before clicking "Save," I opened a new tab and checked all her active sessions.
Five devices, including her phone.
My finger trembled as I hit "Sign out all other devices."
The confirmation message appeared: "Password changed successfully."
I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair, picturing Emmy's face when she realized she was locked out of her own email account.
It was a small act of revenge, but it didn't make me feel any better.
I stared at my phone, Emmy's message glowing in the darkness of my apartment.
My hands shook as I debated responding.
Instead of typing out a reply, I opened our old text conversations.
I scrolled through months of her criticism and comparisons to her ex.
Each message was another reminder of how I'd never been good enough for her.
The unknown number sent another text: "Please. I know you changed my password."
Then another: "You're being childish."
I placed my phone face-down on the coffee table and walked to my bedroom, leaving her messages unread.
I sat in my car, parked across the street from Emmy's house.
The dashboard clock read 11:58 PM, and the streetlight above cast long shadows across her front lawn.
Her bedroom window was still lit, but I knew she'd be ready to leave soon.
My phone kept lighting up with messages from the unknown number.
Each one was more desperate than the last.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, remembering all the times Emmy had made me wait outside while she got ready.
She'd mock my patience, calling me pathetic for waiting so long just to take her out.
The clock hit 11:59 PM, and I started my engine.
As I watched her front door, my phone buzzed again with another message.
"Jamie, please, I need to talk to you," the text read.
I hesitated, then replied, "Why should I? You only ever used me."
The bedroom light flickered, then went dark.
I waited for her silhouette to appear in the window, but it never did.
The constant buzz of messages finally stopped, replaced by an oppressive silence.
My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as I counted to one hundred, making sure she was really asleep.
The dashboard clock's red numbers ticked forward: 12:00 AM.
I rehearsed what I would do next as I watched Emmy's house.
A stray cat prowled across her front lawn, its eyes reflecting my headlights before it disappeared into the shadows.
I put the car in gear and drove away, leaving the past behind.
I parked two blocks away and walked back to Emmy's house, keeping to the shadows between streetlights.
The spare key was still hidden under the ceramic frog by her back door - she'd never listened when I told her it wasn't safe.
My hands shook as I picked up the frog and retrieved the key.
The lock turned silently, just like it had hundreds of times before when I was still welcome here.
Inside, the house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.
I crept up the carpeted stairs, my socks muffling each careful step.
The third stair from the top always creaked, so I hugged the wall where the wood was more solid.
Moonlight streamed through the hallway window, casting long shadows across the family photos I used to smile at.
Emmy's bedroom door was slightly ajar - she never closed it all the way when she slept.
Through the gap, I could see her lying in bed, her blonde hair spread across her pillow.
The sight that once filled me with affection now only fueled my determination.
I took a deep breath and whispered, "Emmy, wake up."
She stirred slightly, her voice groggy as she mumbled, "Jamie? What are you doing here?"
I stepped closer, my heart pounding, and said, "I know about the messages; we need to talk about who’s really behind them."