I borrowed my boyfriend Ben’s laptop to print something and saw a file on the desktop labeled "DO NOT OPEN.” My hands hesitated, then I clicked. It wasn’t anything I expected—just a spreadsheet. But each tab was named after a woman, and mine was last. I scrolled, and my throat tightened. Under my name, it read: "Exit strategy if she ever …”
I stopped breathing. "Exit strategy?” My trembling fingers opened my tab to find a list of cold, calculated bullet points:
* If Jessica cheats → Contact lawyer, initiate breakup.
* If Jessica loses job → Delay engagement, suggest separate finances.
* If Jessica gains weight (over 20lbs) → Gently suggest fitness plan.
* If Jessica gets too emotional → Limit time together, encourage therapy.
* If Jessica pressures for kids → Postpone with "financial reasons.”
It felt like a slap. This was from Ben, the man who made me soup when I was sick and called me his "forever girl.” He had mapped out his departure not based on my actions, but on potential failures.
Horrified, I saw tabs for other women—Rebecca, Lindsay, Mariah. Each had its own cruel assessment. Rebecca’s tab noted, "Great in bed, but too needy. Give 6 months max.” Mariah’s read, "Beautiful, but talks too much. Backup plan if things go south with Jessica.”
*Backup plan?*
I slammed the laptop shut as he walked in, smiling, holding two mugs of coffee. "Here you go, babe,” he said, oblivious. I took the mug with a hollow smile, my mind reeling. That night, every past kindness felt rehearsed, every hug part of a script to keep me placated until something better came along.
I didn’t confront him. Instead, I started watching, and the illusion crumbled. I saw how he mocked commitment and belittled coworkers. Then, I found a jewelry receipt in his coat pocket. The name on it wasn’t mine; it was Chloe’s. A search of our apartment revealed the ring, hidden in his sock drawer.
I didn’t cry or scream. I packed my things and left.
Two months later, I got a call from an unknown number. "Jessica? This is Chloe. I found your name on Ben’s laptop. In that spreadsheet.”
He was still using the same file. Chloe had found it just as I had. She called to thank me; seeing my name and my story gave her the strength to walk away before she became his next calculated mistake. He had tried to propose to her not out of love, but out of a fear of being alone. She said no.
He later sent me a single-line email: "I guess I deserve this.” I didn’t reply.
Now, a year later, I’m with someone new. Tyler doesn’t keep spreadsheets or backup plans. He just loves me—fully, messily, and honestly. We laugh, we fight, we talk, and I have never once doubted his reasons for being with me.
I’m now glad I found that file. Sometimes the universe shows you something awful not to break you, but to free you. If I hadn't opened that laptop, I might have married a man who saw me as a risk to manage, not a person to love.
The lesson was clear: when someone shows you who they are, believe them. Real love doesn’t come with an escape plan. It comes with effort, patience, and the unwavering choice to stay, even when things aren't perfect.
