His desperation is palpable, but it feels calculated.
Every promise is laced with a subtle guilt trip, every apology a reminder thatheis the one hurting now. He paints himself as the victim of his own failings, expecting me to rescue him from the mess he’s made.
Over the next few days, the emails keep coming, growing more frantic, more manipulative.
Timmy:
I’ve made the appointments. I’m doing the work. Just let me talk to you. Let me explain. You’re the love of my life. I’ll never forgive myself if I lose you.
I finally respond, my tone measured but firm.
Me:
Timmy, I’ve heard all of this before. You’ve promised to change so many times, but nothing ever gets better.
I’m a shell of who I was before because of you.
I deserve better than this.
His reply is immediate, defensive yet pleading.
Timmy:
But I’ve changed! I’m getting the drinking medication. I’m going to therapy. You said you loved me.
How can you just give up on us?
I need you to believe in me.
I shake my head, anger and heartbreak warring inside me.
His words are a trap, designed to pull me back into the cycle I’ve fought so hard to escape.
He wants me to believe he’s capable of change, that this time will be different.
But I know better.
Finally, I send an email that feels like the closing of a door.
Me:
It’s not just about the alcohol, Timmy.
Your behavior has destroyed me—physically, emotionally, mentally.
I can’t do this anymore. You need to take responsibility for yourself.
This isn’t my job.
He responds.
Timmy:
You’re my soulmate. Please don’t leave me like this. I’ll be so good. I’ll make it right. Just let me come home.
His words no longer have power over me.
I copy and paste excerpts from articles about narcissistic abuse, hoping he’ll see himself in them. They even call out how a narcissist will lean on the concept of soulmates to try to lure back their victims, just like Timmy’s doing to me now.