When Jake said we should move to Alaska to save money and build our future, I said yes without hesitation. I even went on a weekend trip with my girlfriends before we left. But when I got home, I found my boxes packed—by the door.

Jake looked up from the couch, calm as ever. “I’m not going to Alaska,” he said. “Changed my mind.”

Then, Maddie walked out of the bathroom. In his shirt. “Hi! You must be Chloe.”

Jake didn’t flinch. “She’s my girlfriend now. Alaska suits you better anyway.”

He’d used the whole plan to get me out of the house so he could move someone else in.

I left. No screaming. Just disbelief. I spent the night at the airport and flew to Alaska alone.

My mom met me with open arms and zero judgment. Within a week, I had a job on a fishing boat. Hard work—but good work. I made real money, met grounded people, and started healing.

My friends back home? They kicked Jake and Maddie out. Changed the locks. Sent me a photo of justice being served.

Months passed. I grew stronger, freer. Then I met Nate—a quiet, kind man from Oregon. Coffee turned into dinners, hikes, and slow mornings making breakfast.

Two years later, Nate and I bought a home near the mountains. I kept a screenshot of our final payment. A reminder.

Jake was right: Alaska did suit me better.

It gave me back my power, my peace—and a partner who never needed to be rescued.