Too Late For Tears, My Dearest Ex

For three years, I handed over my entire salary to my boyfriend, Julien. He claimed he was afraid I would spend recklessly, so to save for our future wedding, he demanded that every single purchase be submitted for his strict approval.

When I wanted to buy a cheap used car to commute, he flatly refused, telling me the subway was good enough, even though it took me three hours round-trip every day. When the brutal Chicago winter hit and temperatures plunged to negative ten degrees, I begged for a forty-dollar space heater for my freezing office. He denied it, calling me weak.

Yet, while I lived like a pauper, my best friend, Brandee, lived like a queen.

While Julien scrutinized my five-dollar coffees, I caught him spending hundreds of dollars on luxury Thanksgiving gifts for Brandee, showering her with the warmth and generosity he never gave me.

When I questioned him, he simply said Brandee appreciated the finer things, while my requests were just wasteful.

In that moment, the illusion shattered. I finally understood he wasn't frugal. He just didn't want to spend his money or my money on me. Every rejected request wasn't about saving; it was because I wasn't the right person to spend it on.

Since I was just a waste of his resources, I decided it was time to stop wasting my life on him.

Chapter 1

Elyse Delgado POV:

Today, the freezing rain poured down in sheets, turning the Chicago streets into a gray, slushy nightmare.

My marketing firm was a long walk from the nearest transit hub. I hadn't brought an umbrella, so I called Julien while standing under the brief shelter of my office building's awning.

"Julien, it's pouring, and I don't have an umbrella," I said, shivering as the icy wind whipped past me. "Can I order an Uber on the joint card? It's just a fifteen-minute ride home."

"An Uber?" Julien's voice instantly dropped into that familiar, condescending tone. "Do you know what surge pricing looks like in this weather, Elyse? That's at least forty-five dollars. You're throwing away our future for a little rain."

"Julien, it is literally freezing outside, and I'm going to get soaked."

"Take the blue line and walk home from the stop," he said coldly. "Put your hood up and stop being so delicate. We have savings goals to meet."

He hung up before I could answer.

By the time I walked the six blocks from the train station to our condo building, my feet were completely numb, and my thin wool coat was soaked through to my skin.

My teeth clicked together uncontrollably as I rode the elevator up to the fourth floor.

I pushed the front door open, desperate to get out of my wet shoes. But as I looked down at the entryway shoe rack, my frustration boiled over into pure anger.

The shoe rack had six tiers. Three entire shelves were dedicated to Julien's pristine dress shoes and sneakers. The other two and a half shelves were overflowing with designer heels, knee-high boots, and strappy sandals that didn't even belong to me.

My entire footwear collection, which consisted of three modest pairs of work shoes, was shoved haphazardly into a tiny, dusty corner on the bottom tier.

The rest belonged to Brandee.

Brandee Rasmussen wasn't just my next-door neighbor; she was supposed to be my best friend. Two years ago, when I bought this two-bedroom condo, Brandee claimed she was terrified of living alone in the city. She shamelessly begged and cried until she bought the one-bedroom unit right across the hall to be near me.

But when she renovated her place, she insisted she wanted a spacious, minimalist aesthetic and stubbornly refused to install enough cabinets.

Instead, she turned my home into her personal storage unit.

Anything that didn't fit into her pristine apartment was shoved into mine. Her off-season clothes completely took over my guest room, turning it into her personal walk-in closet. Whenever she baked, her leftover cakes and bulky ingredients monopolized my French-door refrigerator. When she hosted parties and had too many guests, she literally sent her overflow friends to sleep on my couch.

My once cozy, organized home had been completely trashed by my so-called best friend.

"Oh, Elyse! You're dripping wet!"

I looked up. Brandee was sitting at my kitchen island, sipping a hot matcha latte, wearing one of Julien's oversized cashmere sweaters.

Julien walked out of the kitchen, handing her a freshly baked croissant with a warm, doting smile. It was a smile I hadn't received in years.

"Move your shoes, Brandee," I said, my voice dead and flat.

Brandee blinked, her lower lip trembling instantly as she clutched her mug. "I just put them there because my hallway is being painted, Elyse. I didn't mean to crowd you."

"You've been crowding this entryway for six months," I said, stepping right past her wet boots. "This shoe rack has six tiers. Julien takes up three, and you've taken the rest. In my own home, my only three pairs of shoes are shoved into a tiny corner. Get your shoes out of my entryway right now."

"Elyse! What is wrong with you?" Julien barked, stepping between me and Brandee, his face twisting with disgust. "Look at how aggressive and narrow-minded you're being! Brandee is our guest and your best friend. You walk in here soaking wet, tracking water everywhere, and immediately start throwing a tantrum over a few pairs of shoes!"

Brandee quickly touched Julien's elbow, her eyes glistening with fake tears.

"It's okay, Julien," she whispered softly, playing the ultimate victim. "Elyse is right. I'm just a burden. I'll take my things back to my crowded little place. I know I don't belong here."

"You don't need to apologize for anything, Brandee," Julien said, his voice instantly softening into a soothing, protective purr. He gently patted her hand before turning to glare at me. "Girls love to dress up, Elyse. It's perfectly normal for her to have different shoes to match different outfits. Stop being so jealous and bitter just because you don't care about your appearance."

He looked at me as if I were a piece of trash stuck to his shoe. "You had a bad commute, and now you're taking your miserable mood out on her. Leave the shoes right where they are."

I looked at Julien's cold, judgmental eyes, then at Brandee's subtle, triumphant smirk hiding behind her coffee mug.

He treated me like a burden, but treated her like a princess.

I didn't argue. I didn't cry.

Instead, I calmly bent down, grabbed two pairs of Brandee's expensive suede boots and a pair of her glittering stilettos, walked over to the front door, and tossed them directly into the communal hallway.

"Elyse! What the hell are you doing?!" Julien yelled.

"Cleaning my house," I said smoothly, grabbing another armful of her heels and dumping them outside. "Since she loves her shoes so much, she can store them in her own minimalist apartment. My home is no longer a dumping ground."

"You're acting like a psycho!" Julien lunged forward to grab my wrist, but I side-stepped him sharply, my eyes flashing with a dangerous warning.

"Touch me, Julien, and see what happens," I hissed.

He froze, clearly taken aback by the sudden venom in my voice. I had always been the obedient, frugal girlfriend who backed down to keep the peace. Not today.

I took off my wet coat, dropped it right onto the kitchen island next to Brandee's croissant, and smiled a cold, silent smile.

The illusion was over. It was time to take out the trash.

Elyse Delgado POV:

I left my wet coat on the kitchen island, right next to Brandee's half-eaten croissant. That was when I noticed them.

Sitting in a pristine row on my marble counter were five massive, luxurious gift baskets wrapped in gold cellophane and wide burgundy ribbons. They were overflowing with imported Belgian chocolates, artisanal cheeses, vacuum-sealed smoked salmon, and vintage sparkling wine.

I reached out and pulled the thick gold ribbon of the closest basket toward me.

"I'm taking two of these," I said, looking Julien dead in the eye. "I'll ship one to my parents for Thanksgiving tomorrow, and we'll keep the other."

"Put that down right now, Elyse!" Julien's voice snapped like a whip.

He lunged forward, grabbing the wicker handle and ripping the basket out of my hands with enough force to shove the box back against the counter.

"These are not yours to touch," he said, his chest heaving with anger. "I bought these specifically for Brandee's family. Every single one of them is already accounted for."

"With whose money, Julien?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. "Where did the nine hundred dollars for these five luxury baskets come from? You told me this morning that spending eighty dollars on my parents was a criminal waste of money."

"I used my discretionary household management funds," Julien justified without missing a beat. "Brandee's parents understand high society. They appreciate quality imported goods. Your parents live in a rural suburb and spend their weekends at church potlucks. Giving them reserve cider is casting pearls before swine. Be realistic for once in your life!"

Brandee stepped forward, wringing her manicured hands and putting on her softest, most pitiful expression.

"Elyse, please don't fight with Julien over me," she murmured, lowering her head. "If it means that much to you, you can have one of my baskets. I can just tell my cousins I forgot their gifts. I don't want to cause trouble between you two."

"You don't need to sacrifice your family's holiday gifts just to appease her temper tantrum, Brandee," Julien interjected loudly, glaring at me.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen aggressively for a few seconds, and shoved the screen three inches from my face.

"There! Are you happy now?" he sneered. "I just went on Amazon and ordered a bulk holiday box for your parents. It has twenty items in it. It cost nineteen dollars and ninety-nine cents with free shipping. Everyone gets equal treatment. Stop embarrassing yourself."

I stared at the phone screen. The product was a generic cardboard box filled with processed crackers, artificially flavored cheese spread in plastic tubes, and stale mini-cookies with near-expiration dates.

At that exact moment, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text message from my older brother, Alex.

"Hey El, Mom told me you were asking about sending holiday stuff. Please don't let Julien buy anything from that discount website again this year. Remember those clearance pecan bars he sent last Thanksgiving? Mom spent two days in urgent care with severe food poisoning from expired oils. Dad didn't want to tell you because he knew you'd feel bad. Just send a picture of yourself, we miss you."

A heavy, suffocating pain clamped down on my chest, followed immediately by pure, burning fury.

Last year, Julien had charged our joint account forty dollars for what he claimed was a curated organic nut sampler. He had sent them expired clearance garbage, pocketed the difference, and put my mother in the hospital.

I looked up from my phone, staring at Julien's smug, self-righteous face.

"Cancel the order, Julien," I said quietly.

"What?" Julien frowned. "I just solved your problem and bought them twenty items. Now you want me to cancel it?"

"Cancel it," I repeated, my voice devoid of any emotion. "Don't ever send a single piece of trash to my parents' house again."

Julien rolled his eyes and tapped his phone. "Fine. Order canceled. Brandee, you witnessed this. She refused the gift herself. Don't let her claim later that I never tried to provide for her family."

"I saw it, Julien," Brandee whispered, giving him an admiring, supportive look. "You're always so patient."

"Let's just eat," Julien sighed, turning toward the stove. "Brandee made her signature creamy garlic pasta in our kitchen. Sit down, Elyse, and let's put this ridiculous drama behind us."

The three of us sat at the dining table. Brandee scooped a heavy portion of pasta onto my plate. I took one bite. It tasted like salt and grease, completely heavy and flavorless. I pushed the plate away and set my fork down.

"I'm done," I said.

Julien wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and looked at me with an authoritative scowl.

"Since Brandee cooked dinner for us, Elyse, you are on cleanup duty tonight," he commanded. "Wash all the pans, wipe down the countertops, and load the dishwasher."

I looked toward the open kitchen. It was an absolute disaster zone. Brandee had used four different stainless steel pans, three mixing bowls, and left open containers of cream and garlic skins scattered across every inch of the marble island.

"No," I said simply.

Brandee gasped softly, her eyes widening. "Oh... I'm so sorry, Elyse. I get a little carried away when I cook. I would help you clean, but I just got my gel nail extensions done today, and the chemicals in the dish soap will ruin the adhesive."

"You don't need to explain yourself to her, Brandee," Julien said, his voice rising in anger as he glared at me. "Elyse, this is a standard division of labor. Brandee has delicate hands and works hard on her appearance. You sit at a marketing desk all day. Stop being lazy and do your part!"

For two years, every single chore generated by Brandee had been dumped onto me. When I asked Julien to spend money from our joint account to fix the broken dishwasher, he refused, telling me that hand-washing dishes built character and saved on electricity.

I stood up from the table.

"Brandee didn't cook for me. She used my kitchen to avoid dirtying her own, made a giant mess, and ate dinner with you," I replied coldly. "She can clean her own mess. I am not touching a single plate."

"You will clean this kitchen right now, or you won't sleep in our bedroom tonight!" Julien threatened, stepping up to assert his physical height over me.

I didn't back down.

Instead, I raised my right hand and shoved it directly into Julien's face, spreading my fingers wide.

The skin across my knuckles was bright red, rough, and split with three deep, bleeding fissures from the freezing rain and constant dish scrubbing in freezing water over the past week.

"Look at my hands, Julien," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a razor. "Tell me again about Brandee's delicate nails."

Elyse Delgado POV:

Julien looked down at my cracked, bleeding knuckles.

For a brief, fleeting second, something that resembled guilt flickered across his face.

He cleared his throat, took half a step back, and lowered his hands to his sides.

"You... you should have put lotion on before you went out in the cold," he muttered, though the sharpness in his voice had deflated slightly. "Fine. I will soak the pans tonight. But you need to manage your stress, Elyse. You're turning every minor domestic task into a battleground."

Brandee quickly grabbed her purse from the entryway console, sensing the shift in the room.

"I should go back to my unit," she said in a trembling, fragile voice, hurrying toward the door. "Thank you for the pasta, Julien. I'll see you tomorrow morning for coffee."

She slipped out the door, leaving Julien and me alone in the living room.

I didn't say another word to him.

I walked straight into the bathroom, washed my hands with cool water, applied the cheap petroleum jelly that barely helped my cracked skin, and went into my home office, shutting the door firmly behind me.

I pulled out my laptop and checked my work emails.

My regional director had sent an announcement regarding the upcoming quarterly restructuring.

Our corporate branch back in Columbus, Ohio-my hometown-was expanding its central marketing operations and looking for a Senior Marketing Director to lead the regional team.

The salary was one hundred and thirty thousand dollars a year, thirty-five thousand more than what I was making now, with a full relocation package.

My phone screen lit up on the desk.

It was a text from my brother, Alex:

"Hey El, Mom and Dad are really missing you. You haven't been home for Thanksgiving or Christmas in two years. If Julien is being tight with the budget again, let me know. I'll buy your plane ticket myself. Just come home for the holidays."

Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away immediately.

I didn't need Alex to buy my plane ticket.

I was a successful, high-earning professional.

I had over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars sitting in a joint savings account that I had built with my own sweat, sixty-hour work weeks, and miserable self-deprivation.

I opened my corporate portal and immediately submitted my formal application for the Senior Marketing Director position in Columbus.

Then, I booked five days of paid time off for Thanksgiving week, which was approved by HR within ten minutes.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and walked out into the living room where Julien was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his iPad.

"Julien," I said, standing three feet away from the coffee table.

He looked up, his expression guarded. "What?"

"I just approved my Thanksgiving time off," I said evenly. "I'm flying home to Ohio next Wednesday to spend five days with my parents and Alex. I need two hundred and fifty dollars from our joint account to book the round-trip flight on Southwest."

Julien's face instantly hardened into that familiar, dismissive scowl.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars for a five-day trip?" he snapped, tossing his iPad onto the cushion. "Did you forget what we talked about literally three weeks ago? We are trying to hit our two-hundred-thousand-dollar milestone by next spring so we can pay for a luxury wedding venue and a month-long honeymoon in Europe."

"Julien, I haven't seen my parents in two years," I said, keeping my tone steady. "Two hundred and fifty dollars out of one hundred and fifty thousand is a drop in the ocean. It's my family."

"It's about the principle, Elyse!" he argued, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "If you take two hundred and fifty dollars now, next month you'll want three hundred for Christmas. Then you'll want new clothes for the trip. It cascades. Sacrifice now so we can enjoy our future later. Why is that concept so difficult for your brain to comprehend?"

The front door opened without a knock, and Brandee walked back in holding an empty ceramic mug.

"Julien, do you have any of that organic oat milk left?" she asked casually, walking straight to our refrigerator as if she owned the place.

Hearing our conversation, Brandee turned around, leaning against the counter with a look of faux concern.

"Are you talking about Thanksgiving, Elyse?" Brandee chimed in softly. "Honestly, traveling during the holidays is such an amateur move. The airports are packed, flights get delayed, and you just end up stressed out. You should stay here with Julien. I'm having my parents over, and we can all do a cozy Friendsgiving together in the building!"

I looked at Brandee, then looked at Julien.

The pattern was so clear it was blinding.

Every single holiday for three years, Julien had manufactured a financial emergency or an arbitrary savings goal to prevent me from going home, keeping me isolated in this city, cooking and cleaning while he catered to Brandee.

"I've been funding our savings account with my entire salary for three years, Julien," I said, ignoring Brandee completely. "I have put over one hundred and twenty thousand dollars into that account. I am not asking for your permission. I am withdrawing two hundred and fifty dollars tonight."

Julien's posture stiffened immediately.

A flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes before he quickly masked it with a patronizing chuckle.

He stood up, walked over to me, and tried to place his hands on my shoulders.

I took a sharp step back, dodging his touch.

His hands hung awkwardly in the air.

"Elyse, baby, don't be like this," he said, switching to his smooth, manipulative voice. "You know I only manage the money because I want the best for us. You get emotional about spending, and I provide the rational structure. But if this trip means that much to you... fine. I'll make an exception."

He pulled out his phone, opened his banking app, and tapped the screen.

A few seconds later, my phone chimed.

"You have received a transfer of $250.00 from Julien Mccarty."

I looked at the notification, then up at him.

In three years, Julien had never once backed down on a financial demand without days of psychological warfare.

Whenever I asked for fifty dollars for new work shoes, he made me fight for a week.

Tonight, the moment I mentioned withdrawing the money directly from the account myself, he transferred it in ten seconds.

"See?" Julien smiled, his eyes tight and strained. "I'm not the monster you make me out to be. Go book your ticket. I have a massive project deadline next week, so I'll stay here and work through the holidays to keep saving. That way, one of us is being productive."

My internal alarm bells were screaming.

Something was fundamentally wrong.

Before I could say anything, my phone rang.

The caller ID showed 'Alex'.

I answered and put it to my ear. "Hey, Alex."

"Hey, El!" Alex's booming, cheerful voice came through the speaker loud enough to be heard in the quiet room. "Change of plans! Dad's arthritis is acting up, so we decided it's stupid to make you fly back and forth in five days. Dad, Mom, and I just booked a road trip! We're driving up to your city next Wednesday and staying with you for Thanksgiving week!"

A heavy silence dropped over the living room.

"What?" Julien gasped, his voice cracking.

"That's wonderful, Alex," I said, looking straight at Julien's pale face. "You're all staying here?"

"Yeah, Mom is already packing her homemade apple pies," Alex laughed. "We'll take your guest room, and I'll sleep on the living room pull-out couch. We can't wait to see your place!"

"I can't wait either. See you Wednesday, Alex."

I hung up the phone.

The condo was deathly silent.

This condo was purchased entirely under my name two years ago.

My parents gave me fifty thousand dollars for the down payment, and I had paid the mortgage and property taxes without missing a single payment.

Because my parents were humble and hated intruding on my adult life, they had never once visited my city, not wanting to make Julien feel crowded.

Julien stood frozen in the center of the living room, his face draining of all color.

Then, he forced a grotesque, twitching smile.

"Elyse... that's... that's great that they're saving money on flights," he stammered. "Very responsible of them."

"Yes," I said calmly. "So Brandee, you have until Tuesday evening to clear all of your clothes, shoe racks, and storage boxes out of my guest room. My parents need that room on Wednesday morning."

Brandee's face twisted in pure shock and horror.

"What?" Brandee shrieked, dropping her empty mug onto the counter with a loud clatter. "Clear out the guest room? But... but my parents and my younger brother are arriving on Tuesday night! Julien already promised me that my family is staying in your guest room for the entire holiday week!"