My boyfriend of two years, Matt, suggested we move in together. I was ecstatic. I don’t make much as a nonprofit administrator, and he makes more than double my salary in tech. When we found the perfect place, I offered to split the rent, but admitted it would be tight on my end. “Forget about it,” he said, waving me off. “You’re going to be the mother of my kids one day. It’s my job to provide.” I was swept off my feet. He was so generous, so loving, so seemingly perfect. I started imagining our future together: a cozy home filled with laughter, children running around, and a lifetime of happiness. We spent hours discussing paint colors, furniture arrangements, and even the names of our future pets. I truly believed I had found my soulmate, someone who understood and cherished me. The idea of waking up next to him every morning, sharing meals, and building a life together filled me with an overwhelming sense of joy and anticipation. This felt like the beginning of forever, a dream come true. I envisioned us growing old together, holding hands on the porch, reminiscing about all the adventures we had shared. The thought of spending my life with Matt filled me with a warmth and security I had never known before. It was as if all the pieces of my life were finally falling into place, creating a beautiful and complete picture. I was ready to embark on this new chapter, hand in hand with the man I loved, and create a lifetime of cherished memories.
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We signed the lease. He paid the deposit. The first morning, I woke up extra early to start unpacking. I arranged my books, carefully placing each volume in its designated spot. I set up our new towels in the bathroom, ensuring they were perfectly aligned. I hung our photos on the wall, creating a collage of our favorite memories together. Each small task filled me with a sense of accomplishment and pride. This was our home, our sanctuary, a place where we could build a life together. I wanted everything to be perfect, a reflection of the love and happiness we shared. As I worked, I couldn’t help but smile, imagining Matt’s reaction when he saw everything I had done. I knew he would be just as excited as I was to start this new chapter in our lives. The apartment felt like a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with our personalities, our laughter, and our love.
I was feeling like the luckiest girl ever, practically floating on air, until I got back from grabbing coffee for us. I unlocked the door and walked in, ready to surprise Matt with his favorite latte, but what I saw wasn’t Matt. **It was a shrine.**
Not just any shrine, a shrine dedicated to *me*. It was filled with pictures of me, some I didn’t even know existed. They were printed and plastered all over the walls.
There were articles about me. My social media posts printed out. My trash, neatly organized in plastic bags, labeled by date. [ “I felt like I was in a horror movie.” ]
Then I saw **the mannequins.** Dressed in my clothes. They were positioned around the apartment, posed in ways that mimicked my daily activities. One was sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee cup, another was reading a book on the couch, and another was standing in front of the mirror, applying makeup. [ “The mannequins were wearing my clothes and jewelry.” ] I backed away slowly, my heart pounding in my chest.
I grabbed my phone and ran out of the apartment, calling the police. [ “Matt was arrested later that day.” ] I’m now living in a safe house, trying to piece my life back together. I’ll never trust anyone again.
