'He told me he loved me at dinner. Five minutes later, he broke my heart.'

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I didn't think we'd speak again, let alone have dinner. But five weeks after the breakup, there we were...

Diary Entry

Sunday, June 15 2025

Well holy f**k knuckles.

One of my Substacks started gaining some traction last night. The one I posted the day after my breakup (read here to get up to speed).

At first, I was flooded with cheers and love.

And then came the nay-sayers. And then the incels. By this afternoon, I was inundated with comments telling me I'd live to regret leaving Mr Man and to "die alone then, whore".

Watch: Reese Witherspoon thinks that nobody knows how to date anymore and it's all to do with the decline of the romcom. Are you convinced? Post continues after video.

Well, they got one thing right. I do regret it. I have spent every day for over a month wondering how I can fix it and if there was even anything left to fix in the first place.

After crying, yet again, at lunch with my sister, I decided it was all too much, and I just needed to talk to him.

"Just f**king call him then if that's what you need!" my sister said lovingly, losing patience.

So I called him as we walked along the canal. The girls walked ahead while I held back and waited as the phone rang. He answered. He sounded relieved and fed up at the same time.

He told me he's back in England. We asked how the other had been. He said, "fine" with a deep breath.

There was a tiny break in the conversation and I took it and ran with it.

"Mr Man…" I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes. I do," he said, as plainly and earnestly as ever.

That. Right there. Is all I needed to hear.

I broke up with the best guy over something that sounds stupid. Image: Supplied.

All I'd been needing to hear for months. Since before the breakup. All I needed to know was that he still loved me.

Suddenly, I'm back. Smack bang in the middle of the page of my own love story once again.

"Well…" I said. "I really miss you. Can I see you?"

"Yes, you can."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night."

So we agreed. Tomorrow night it is. We didn't decide a time or place. Just that we would meet.

Oh my god.

I hung up the phone and burst into tears. I was overwhelmed. It was all too much.

He. Loves. Me.

Of course, he f**king does. It was that simple. Why couldn't he have just saved us both all of this pain and just said that the last f**king time I asked?

Almost immediately, my first thought was: well… what the hell am I gonna tell the girlies?

What in the Carrie Bradshaw and Mr Big is this storyline?!

And then I remembered: just because he said he loves me doesn't mean we're out of the woods.

It doesn't mean he's ready to show up.

It doesn't mean we're getting back together.

Oh, mon dieu.

Now

He booked us a table for two at a gorgeous little Greek restaurant for 8:30pm.

I couldn't do anything all day. I was paralysed. I had a long bath, washed my hair and shaved my everything and then lay on my bedroom floor, filled with hope and anxiety, waiting as the minutes crawled by.

Eventually, I made it up off the floor. It was still only 5pm. I decided to clean my entire apartment to pass the time and calm my nerves.

I rifled through my lingerie collection for something stunning enough to remind him what he's been missing but not too much that it seemed contrived. I went for nude lace with black appliqué bra and brief. No suspender belt. I wore his favourite skirt of mine with a linen wrap top and then I opted for a heeled sandal instead of the knee boot I'd originally planned.

I did my makeup — soft brown eyeshadow and brown mascara. My hair was perfectly blown. My makeup sat like it had been done by a professional. My outfit was cute, yet sophisticated enough.

Then I booked the car and left just after 8:10 p.m.

"Please drive slowly," I asked the driver. "I'm meeting my ex-boyfriend and I don't want to get there too early.

"Got it," he said.

After my first article, the comments piled up fast; there was love, then the naysayers. Image: Supplied.

Still, I arrived at 8:23 and went straight to the toilets. Sweating. Sweating so much, I had to blot my underarms and compose myself before heading back to the table. I sat there for two long minutes. He arrived at 8:30 sharp.

My god, he looked so cool. Not cool like skater cool or fashionably cool. And not steely, cold kind of cool either. It was that cool that Daisy meant when she looked in Gatsby's closet and gushed over his cool, beautiful shirts until she cried with the ache of everything he'd become while they were apart. That kind of cool. Calm and certain and just out of reach.

He ordered wine and I had soda. We caught up. We spoke about where we'd been and who we'd seen. Small talk at first. He ordered lots of food for us to get through and then we got into it.

When it came to discussing our relationship, I wanted to let him speak. I wanted to hear it from his side.

He said he'd spent lots of time alone thinking about his role in all of this and his approach to relationships.

He explained that the first thing to trigger him in our relationship was when I said I felt like I had to perform and audition for his affection.

On the day in question, I remember I was just so upset. I had been all day. All week, even. It was another case of him being away for a week and the communication was next to zero.

And any time we did talk, it felt like a courtesy call from a phone operator on his part. Like an obligation.

I was just supposed to trust that he cared with little to no evidence. I was trying to alter myself to be more calm. More collected. More chill. I never called first. I gave him space.

I was waiting for him to call me to arrange my travel day to see him. When he didn't call until the afternoon, I just couldn't take it. So I brought it up. Again.

"I don't feel super connected right now… I don't feel any effort from your side... I'm feeling very alone in this relationship."

He responded saying he was blindsided because he thought our relationship was "perfect."

"That's because your needs are being met," I said. "It's perfect for you because you only ever have to ask something of me once."

I didn't want it to end. I didn't want us to end. Image: Supplied.

I told him I felt like I had to audition for his time and affection, otherwise he wouldn't be present. I told him that every time I brought up a problem, however kindly or gently, he'd lock me out even further.

After that conversation, I wanted to talk about it, work on it, but he was even more steely and distant for a few days. I tried to reach for him and talk through it some more, but he pushed back.

He said, "I need time to process the things you've said."

And then came the silence again.

That's my punishment for speaking up. But don't worry. I learnt my lesson.

By the time he returned, I was so starved of affection, we quickly moved on from the entire thing.

Sweep under rug. Pretend it didn't happen. Don't talk next time. Got it.

Anyway, back to the dinner last night.

He told me that after that day, he was triggered. He saw signs of everything going downhill and began withdrawing further and further into himself. He said he wasn't planning to leave me, though. And that he did love me.

So I asked him:

"Why couldn't you just tell me you loved me the day I broke up with you? When I asked you? That's all I needed to hear. I just needed to know that you still loved me and you couldn't tell me. I thought there was nothing left. I would've stayed forever.

"F**k the communication. F**k the way I was feeling. F**k all of it. I love you. I saw a future with you. I was convinced you were just going to keep it going with me until whenever and then turn around in another year or so and say 'I knew I didn't love you a year ago.' I was almost sure you had stopped loving me."

I explained that I'd felt things dwindling and I kept reaching out for signs of life and I was met with silence. Not just a whisper. Crickets.

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I was looking for evidence that he loved me and I kept coming up short. He used to whisper "you're the love of my life" as he was drifting off to sleep.

Where did that guy go? I hadn't seen him in months. We weren't even a year in.

So on the day we broke up, I asked him: "Do you love me?"

And he said:

"I'm not even sure I know what love is. How do you even really know with someone after 11 months?"

How could I stay after that?

WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST SAY YOU LOVED ME THEN?! We could've avoided all of this.

I can't say verbatim what he responded, but it was something like this:

"I know it sounded like a cop-out when I told you I didn't know what love was. But you're the only relationship where I've ever shown up as my full self and been honest.

"Some days you feel love really intensely and some days you don't feel it as much. It goes up and down. In the past, in relationships, I would've just lied on the days I wasn't feeling it. But I didn't ever want to lie to you."

"So I was right?" I said. "You scalded me that day and told me that it triggered you when I said I had to audition for your love. You said that comment was the reason you withdrew, but I was right to say it. Because I did have to audition. Some days you decided to love me and show me and tell me, and then on the days you didn't feel like it, I didn't get love."

"Which is unfathomable to me," I added. "Because I woke up and chose to love you every single day. Rain or shine, there is a baseline love that I have for you. Even on a bad day, you're still supposed to love your partner. Not every day is going to be fireworks, but the love should never come into question."

He said something about a book we both read — Nando Parrado's Miracle in the Andes. At the end of the book, Nando describes meeting his wife and how everything in his life clicked. He wanted to move mountains and change careers and be everything he could be for her.

Mr Man said that's what he thought love was supposed to feel like.

"But you felt that for me. We had all of that at the beginning," I said.

"Yes, we did," he said.

"We had it and you decided to let it go. But what you felt at the beginning wasn't love. It was lust."

"Don't tell me what I felt," he interjected.

Deep breath. Compose.

"I'm not trying to tell you what you felt. What I meant was… everything is sparks and butterflies at the beginning. It feels like it's choosing you. But love is when you show up and keep choosing that person."

I think this is when I began to cry.

More deep breaths and I quickly blotted my tears away with my napkin.

Compose yourself! You're in a restaurant. My god.

Despite all of that… every second of the dinner was incredible. He had new clothes on and he was just more beautiful than ever. We laughed so much. Even through the tough conversations, we were both smiling and laughing.

I didn't want it to end. I didn't want us to end.

I mentioned that he never replied to the email I sent a few weeks back. He told me he'd written me pages and pages, drafts and drafts of a letter (YES A LETTER) that he never got the chance to send.

Ok… Maybe this is when I started crying.

I knew my email wasn't too dramatic!! I was going to send a letter too but he was away! But this man wants the romance!

"So," I said. "What do you want now?"

"I've really spent a lot of time alone, working on myself and my work and I'm finally getting somewhere. This whole thing lit a fire under my ass," he said.

sh*t. happy for him. but sh*t… I know where this is going.

I'd hoped this was our second chance. I really did. I thought he might be open to it. Now that I knew he loved me, there was nothing stopping me from giving it another go. I want to work at this. I want him. I want to make it work.

He went on to talk about his career goals. How he just wants to focus. How he doesn't want to go through another breakup like this.

"What you're experiencing is the post-breakup glow-up," I giggled. "But what about the future?"

"We tried and it didn't work," he said it with such certainty.

No no no no no no. Fan the flame. Blow on it. SOMEONE. SOMETHING.

He was so defeatist. So past tense.

I tried to tussle with him a little.

"It's not that it didn't work. We were happy. It could've worked. It can work."

Almost begging.

We went back and forth a little. He said he'd missed me terribly while we were apart and wanted to reach out, but he didn't because he didn't want to go backwards.

"I'm just trying to focus on it now," he said.

F**K.

Listen. The last relationship taboo. Post continues below.

The hope drained out of me and suddenly our perfect dinner didn't seem so perfect anymore.

We finished up dinner and shared dessert. I suggested we walk elsewhere for a drink and he agreed until we got outside the restaurant and he said he needed to go home. It was getting late and he had an early morning.

We smoked cigarettes on the street outside the restaurant while I waited for my car to arrive. I suggested he get in and take it to his after I got out, but he declined.

So my car arrived. And then I kissed him.

I kissed him and I kissed him and I kissed him like it was my final breath on this earth.

Then I slid into the back of the car, waved him goodbye, and drove the thirteen minutes home.

I cried as soon as I walked through the door and then I called him. Just to say thanks for dinner.

Total lie. you f**king begging little liar.

He answered quickly. Said he'd just got in. Said he'd call me back.

But I cried myself to sleep knowing he wouldn't.

Today

All I can think about is that comparison he made to Nando Parrado and his wife. It's enraged me all morning.

Nando Parrado did everything with love. It was woven into every part of him and his story. It was how he survived those seventy-two days in the Andes mountains. He showed up to every situation in his life with his heart wide open. When Nando met his wife, he was ready to love her and choose her every day because that's the way he showed up in every corner of his life.

He saw sparks and fought hard to make flames out of them.

Mr Man saw a spark and he chased it. But when he got it, he put a jar over it and wondered why it died.

He didn't fan it. He didn't show up. He wanted love to change his life but wasn't willing to change for love.

You want to know who loves like Nando?

I do.

I have made the most mundane men magic. I have taken f**king trash off the street and made him my god. Worshipped at the altars of strangers and abusers. Enough to write books about.

I have written poetry for idiots that would bring you to your knees.

I cried myself to sleep knowing he wouldn't reach out. Image: Supplied.

I have thrown myself into love every single time without question. Many times to my detriment, and many times for the wrong person — but when the right person comes, I will have a love like Nando describes in his book. Because it's the only way I know how.

Ok. Call me co-dependent. Waa Waa. There are worse things a girl could be in this world.

I didn't need Mr Man to be perfect. I didn't need him to be obsessed with me 24/7. I needed him to be willing to show up.

I wasn't hard to love. I know I wasn't. And just to be sure, I f**king asked him. Right there at the dinner table last night. Of course, I did. If this isn't going to be a reconciliation dinner, at least let it be an exit interview.

I told him I'd been riddled with regret, wondering if I could've shown up differently.

Wanna know what he said? He said I didn't do a single thing I should regret. I wasn't too much. He loves me. He thinks I'm wonderful and smart and all of these other things that every girl wants to hear.

And then, he reminded me of something I'd completely forgotten I'd said:

"You told me when we first got together that when I became complacent, you would leave me. I became complacent, so you left."

I've been here beating myself up, letting strangers on the internet tell me that I gave up on a good man and I'll live to regret it.

F**king bullsh*t. I WOULD NEVER.

I didn't give up on a good man. A good man gave up on me.

All I did was call it out and walk away.

Mic drop. goodnight.

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