Hello, everyone. I'm writing, and I'm boiling inside. Last week my ex-boyfriend showed up. I hadn't seen or heard from him in almost six years, and now hello. I was so lucky to have him.
He called me and asked me how I was doing. We communicated neutrally. Considering how we were getting divorced, talking on the phone was a huge step forward. I thought he had matured and finally learned how to respond to problems normally.
But things moved on so fast that I couldn't keep up. On Saturday morning, the twenty-fifth, my ex was standing on my doorstep with two big bags. He came to live with me again. I told him I was happy to see him, but I didn't want to live with him and wouldn't. He made a scene in the stairwell: at first he kept saying he couldn't live without me and decided to restore everything. Very interesting! It's a fresh story, but it's hard to believe. After an hour of talking through a closed door, his true motives became clear. The new girlfriend threw him out of the apartment and he has nowhere to go.
Very sad, but what did I have to do with it?! He started accusing me that if I didn't accept him, he would have to go back to his parents. Not a very good argument, by the way. Let him go.
He didn't leave until near lunchtime, when I threatened to call the police.
