My Abusive Ex Threatened Every Man Who Looked At Me. Until I Started Dating MMA Fighter

A Shield in the Shape of a Fighter

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to get up and leave, and part of me wanted to tell him everything about Derek.

Part of me just wanted to sit there and enjoy a normal conversation for the first time in years. We talked for two hours.

He was funny and smart and surprisingly gentle for someone who beat people up for a living. When we finally said goodbye, he asked if he could have my number.

I hesitated. Every instinct told me this was dangerous, but I was so tired of being afraid.

I gave him my number. That night, he texted me.

“Thanks for the farmers market. That was nice. Would you want to get dinner sometime?”

I stared at my phone for ten minutes before responding.

“I need to tell you something first,”

I replied.

“Okay,”

he said. So I told him everything about Derek.

I told him about the threats and about the pattern of men around me getting hurt or scared off. I told him about how I hadn’t dated anyone in two years because I didn’t want anyone else to suffer.

I expected him to stop responding. I expected him to make an excuse and disappear like any reasonable person would.

Instead, he wrote back.

“That’s horrible. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with that. But here’s the thing, Madison: I’m not afraid of your ex, and I’d really like to take you to dinner.”

We went to dinner on Tuesday at a nice Italian place downtown. I was paranoid the entire time, scanning the restaurant for Derek’s face.

But he wasn’t there. Cameron told me about his upcoming fight.

It was in three weeks here in Austin. He seemed excited but nervous.

“My opponent is tough. He’s got a wrestling background, and that’s always been my weakness.”

“What’s your strength?”

I asked.

“Striking. I’m a boxer first, but in MMA you can’t just be one thing. You have to be well-rounded.”

After dinner, he walked me to my car.

“I had a great time,”

he said.

“Can we do this again?”

“Yes,”

I said, and I meant it. We started seeing each other regularly.

Two dates a week became three, then four. He never pushed for anything physical beyond holding hands or a kiss good night.

He was patient and kind and made me feel safe for the first time in years. And Derek didn’t show up, not once.

It was weird and unsettling. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did.

Three weeks into dating Cameron, I went to his fight. He’d given me two tickets, so I brought my friend Jessica.

She’d been my best friend since college and had watched Derek destroy my life in real time.

“I can’t believe you’re dating someone,”

Jessica said as we found our seats.

“And I really can’t believe you’re dating a cage fighter.”

“He’s not what you’d expect,”

I said.

“Look at you. You’re smiling, you’re out in public, you’re living again,”

she said. The fight was intense.

I’d never watched MMA before and the violence of it shocked me. But Cameron was incredible, fast and precise.

He knocked his opponent out in the second round. After the fight, we went backstage to congratulate him.

His face was bruised and his knuckles were taped, but he was grinning.

“You came,”

he said when he saw me.

“Of course I came,”

I said. He kissed me right there in front of everyone.

It was the first time he’d really kissed me, and it felt like everything clicked into place. We went out to celebrate with his team and some friends.

At the bar, Cameron introduced me to everyone.

“This is Madison, my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. The word made my heart race.

I hadn’t been anyone’s girlfriend since Derek. That night, after everyone else had left, Cameron and I sat in his truck in the parking lot.

“I need to tell you something,”

he said. My chest tightened.

Here it comes, I thought. This is where he tells me it’s too much, that Derek is too much.

But instead, he said,

“Your ex came to see me.”

About two weeks ago, everything stopped.

“What?”

I asked.

“He showed up at the shop. He waited until I was alone and came in. He started making threats and told me to stay away from you. He said he’d make my life hell if I didn’t.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Cameron, I’m so sorry. I should have warned you better. I should have…”

“Madison,”

he took my hand.

“Let me finish. So your ex is standing there trying to intimidate me, telling me all the things he’s done to other guys who talk to you.”

“And I just listened. I let him say his peace. Then you know what I did?”

I shook my head.

“I told him I fight for a living. I told him that I’ve trained for 12 years and that I’ve been hit by the best strikers in Texas and taken down by the best wrestlers.”

“And I told him that if he ever came near you again, if he ever so much as sent you a text message or drove past your apartment, I would find him. And it wouldn’t be a threat, it would be a promise.”

My hands were shaking.

“What did he do?”

I asked.

“He tried to act tough for about 10 more seconds, then he realized I wasn’t backing down and he left. Haven’t heard from him since.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You threatened him?”

I asked.

“I didn’t threaten him. I made him understand consequences. There’s a difference.”

Cameron looked at me seriously.

“Madison, I know what you’ve been through and I know you’ve probably been protecting everyone around you for years. But you don’t have to protect me.”

“I can take care of myself. And more importantly, I want to take care of you.”

Healing Through Conflict and Compassion

That was four months ago. Derek hasn’t contacted me since.

He hasn’t showed up anywhere and hasn’t hurt anyone around me. For the first time in over two years, I’m free.

Cameron and I are still together. I go to all his fights now, and he’s won his last three.

We moved in together last month into a little house with a yard. The house was Cameron’s idea.

He’d been living in a tiny apartment above the repair shop and I’d been in my one-bedroom with the traumatic memories. We decided to start fresh together.

House hunting was an adventure. Every place we looked at, I caught myself thinking about security, good locks, well-lit streets, and easy escape routes.

Cameron noticed.

“We’re going to find a place where you feel safe,”

he said.

“Take your time.”

We found it three weeks later, a small two-bedroom in a quiet neighborhood. The landlord was this sweet older woman named Patricia who lived two houses down.

She took one look at Cameron and said,

“Oh good, you’re a big one. We could use more good men on this street.”

Cameron laughed.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

We moved in on a Saturday. Jessica came to help along with Cameron’s two training partners, Marcus and David.

Both of them were fighters too, though not as big as Cameron. They treated me like I was already family.

“Cameron never shuts up about you,”

Marcus said while carrying boxes.

“It’s honestly annoying. Madison this, Madison that. We get it dude, you’re in love.”

Cameron threw a roll of packing tape at him. That first night in the new house, we ordered pizza and sat on the floor because we didn’t have furniture yet.

Cameron put his arm around me and said,

“This is ours. Our space, our life. Nobody else gets to touch this.”

I believed him. The next few months were the happiest of my life.

I was learning what a normal relationship felt like. Cameron and I had our first real fight about three months in.

It was stupid, something about him forgetting to tell me he’d be late from the gym. I got anxious because he wasn’t answering his phone, and when he finally got home, I snapped at him.

He didn’t yell back. He just said,

“You’re right.”

“I should have called. I’m sorry.”

That was it. No screaming, no punishment, no silent treatment for days.

Just an apology and a promise to do better. I cried.