My Bf Gave Me A 5-month Ultimatum To Lose Weight After My Dad Died. I Lost The Weight, But Rejected His Public Proposal In Front Of Everyone. Was I Wrong For Humiliating Him?”

She said she almost said something a dozen times but knew I had to figure it out myself. Hearing this from my sister hurt but also helped. Made me realize how obvious Justin’s behavior was to everyone except me.

We spent the next hour talking about practical things. I needed to get my stuff from Justin’s apartment. My clothes. My books. Photos. Things that mattered.

Scarlet said she was coming with me. No arguments. Said Justin was good at manipulating me and she wasn’t going to let him talk me into anything. Haley said she’d come too. Said I needed two people there to keep me focused and stop Justin if he came home early from work.

We made a plan. Justin worked until 5:00 on weekdays. We’d go at 2:00 when he’d definitely be at the office. Bring empty boxes and garbage bags. Get in and get out fast.

That afternoon, the three of us drove to Justin’s apartment in Scarlet’s car. She had boxes in her trunk left over from her last move. We pulled into the parking lot at exactly 2:15.

I had a key to Justin’s place on my key ring. Had for 3 years. My hand shook when I tried to put the key in the lock. Took me three tries. The door finally opened.

I stood in the doorway looking at the apartment. 6 years of my life happened in this space. The couch where we watched movies. The kitchen where I cooked him dinner. The bedroom where he stopped touching me.

Scarlet put her hand on my back and gently pushed me inside. I started in the bedroom. My clothes hung next to his in the closet. Six years of my life mixed with his. I pulled dresses off hangers and threw them on the bed. Scarlet brought in empty boxes from her trunk. Haley started in the bathroom, grabbing my toiletries and makeup.

I moved fast, not thinking, just grabbing sweaters, jeans, and the workout clothes I bought when I started training with Antonio. I reached for a box on the top shelf to pack shoes and knocked down a shoe box I’d never seen before. It fell open. Photos spilled across the floor.

All of me. From when we first started dating. Me in a sundress at the beach. Me in jeans and a tank top at a barbecue. Me in a black dress at his company party. Every single photo showed me at my thinnest.

I picked one up. There was writing on the back in Justin’s handwriting. “9 out of 10. Great legs.”

I grabbed another. “8 out of 10. Needs better posture.”

Another. “10 out of 10. Perfect in this dress.”

My hands started shaking. I picked up more photos. He’d rated me like I was a product he was reviewing. Notes about my body in every single picture. “Too much makeup.” “Hair looks better down.” “This angle hides her stomach.”

Scarlet came back into the bedroom and saw me sitting on the floor surrounded by photos. She knelt down and picked one up. Read the back. Her face went red. She didn’t say anything, just started taking photos out of the box one by one. Reading each note. Her jaw getting tighter with every word.

There were at least 50 photos in that box. All rated. All commented on. All focused on how I looked, not who I was or what we were doing or any actual memory. Just my appearance scored like a judge at a competition.

Haley walked in with an armful of my bathroom stuff and saw us on the floor. She put everything down and came over. Looked at the photos. Started reading the notes. Her mouth fell open.

She looked at me and I could see she was trying not to cry. I felt numb. Not even sad anymore, just empty. This was who Justin really was. Someone who kept a secret box of rated photos of his girlfriend like some kind of weird science project.

Scarlet stood up and walked out of the bedroom. I heard her in the living room. Then I heard her say a bad word really loud.

Haley and I both got up and went to see what was wrong. Scarlet was standing at the dining table. Justin’s laptop sat open. The screen was on. She pointed at it without saying anything. I walked over and looked.

Dating apps. Multiple tabs open in his browser. One showed his profile on some site I’d never heard of. His photo. His bio. Relationship status listed as single.

I clicked through his browser history. Six months of activity. Different dating sites. Women’s profiles. Search filters set for “fit body type” and “athletic build.” Messages sent to dozens of women. Some responded. Some didn’t.

He’d been actively looking for someone else while I was losing weight. While he was telling me to keep going. While he was posting about being proud of my journey. The whole time he had backup plans. Other options. Women who already looked the way he wanted. I felt sick.

Scarlet grabbed my phone from my pocket and handed it to me.

“Take pictures of this. All of it.”

I didn’t argue. I took photos of his profile, his messages, his search history showing months of activity. The filters he used. The types of women he contacted. All of them looked like me when we first met. Thin. Conventionally pretty. The kind of women he could show off to his friends.

Haley came over with the shoe box.

“Document this too. The rating notes.”

I took photos of several pages of his handwriting. His scores. His comments about my body. Evidence of his obsession with my appearance. His need to rate and judge and control how I looked.

We packed faster after that. Threw things in boxes without folding them. I didn’t care about being neat anymore. Just wanted to get out. Grabbed my books from the shelves. My photos from the walls. My kitchen stuff from the cabinets. Things my dad gave me before he died. A blanket my mom made. Items that actually mattered.

2 hours later we had everything important packed. Six boxes and four garbage bags. I left behind furniture and decorations and things Justin bought me. Didn’t want any of it.

I took my key off my key ring and put it on the kitchen counter. Wrote a note on a piece of paper: “I’ll get the rest later. Don’t contact me.”

We carried boxes down to Scarlet’s car in the parking lot. Three trips up and down the stairs. I felt lighter with each box we loaded. Like I was leaving weight behind instead of taking it with me. The physical stuff didn’t matter. What mattered was getting away from someone who rated me like a product and shopped for replacements while pretending to support me.