It’s uplifting to witness women supporting each other, whether it’s friends offering help or strangers extending support to those they’ve never met. In this story, a woman quietly left a letter for her ex-boyfriend’s future girlfriend, offering a heads-up about what to anticipate and sharing lessons from her own experience. The new girlfriend shared this moving act of solidarity on Reddit, where she received an outpouring of encouragement and advice from the online community.
She wrote:
“My boyfriend Steve (30m) and I (28f) have been together for 2 years and have been living together for 8 months. I was cleaning our apartment when I found a note in the back of a cabinet that read:
‘Dear Steve’s Future Girlfriend,
I know it’s you reading this because he’d never clean back here. I’m putting this here because I’m leaving him soon and want to warn you about him:
1-He will not clean;
2-He will not listen;
3-He will make everything feel like it’s your fault;
It’s not your fault, he’s just an incompetent man. I’m leaving him, I suggest you do the same.
Best wishes, Natalia'”
She added:
“I read the note and brought it to show to him and hear his response. He immediately ripped it up and said not to listen to it, that she was crazy and untrustworthy. I told him that the fact that he hasn’t found the note in the 5 years since they broke up is a red flag to me because it does mean he’s never cleaned back there and that he has been cleaning less and less since I moved in.
He told me this is just his ex continuing to manipulate and ruin his life, and I was letting it work. We continued to argue along the same lines, and I eventually left to spend the night at a friend’s place.
Steve has been a great boyfriend so far. He gets along with my family. He has given me gifts and flowers and always tells me how much he loves me. He’s not wrong that the cleaning hasn’t really been brought up before, but the note made me realize it had been less and less and that we needed to have a full conversation about this.”
She went on explaining:
“He texted me afterwards saying he’s sorry that I felt like I had to leave, but that it’s a wrong move for me to take a note over our 2-year relationship and to leave him and our pets alone. I don’t know what to do or what to believe right now. I’m contemplating trying to find and reach out to Natalia.
Steve thinks I should come back home and let it go, that his past should not affect our future. He makes it sound like his ex was manipulative and petty throughout their relationship, but I don’t know what to trust.
When we moved in together 8 months ago, the cleaning was 50/50. Since then, he’s been doing things less and less. I have to remind him to do things like to bring his plates to the sink or take out the trash, and I didn’t have to before. The dishes will pile up unless I do them, to the point he’s had leftover food mold on the plates.”
She continued:
“I’m not a confrontational person, so I was just asking him to fix it when it came up. The note made me reflect on it more and try to have an actual full conversation, and I will say I didn’t feel listened to when I talked to him about it.
I tried to use the note to start a conversation about cleaning, and he got so stuck on the fact that I was listening to his ex instead of him, that he wouldn’t listen to what I think are valid concerns. He thinks I’m letting the note have “confirmation bias” so no matter what he says I’ll think he’s in the wrong.
Also, I didn’t leave him permanently, this all happened yesterday and I only spent one night at a friend’s because I didn’t feel like our conversation was going anywhere last night, and he wouldn’t let me sleep until I let it go. I’m going back today and wanted to get advice and feedback before I do.”
Other Redditors chimed in, sharing their own insights and offering advice to her.
- I’m so glad for you. It wasn’t two wasted years since they taught you a valuable lesson. I’m especially grateful for Natalia! Please tell her we love her for her kind solidarity and witty ways. Absolutely, leave a note — but better yet, leave two. One in the same place (he’ll look there; manipulative narcissists aren’t that dumb), and another in an even less likely spot. Sending you my best. You got this, girl! © occasionalpart / Reddit
- Well, he’s not cleaning, he’s not listening to you, and he’s making it out to be your fault “for trusting a note over him.” So, it seems the ex’s assessment might be accurate. It doesn’t look like he’s open to discussing his poor housekeeping, and personally, I don’t think you’ll be able to address it now without the note coming up. Ultimately, it’s up to you to decide whether this is something you can tolerate. It seems he hasn’t learned anything from his last relationship. © VonBoo / Reddit
- You’ve been living together for less than a year, and you’re already having to play mommy, reminding him of basic chores and daily tasks! If Natalia were truly such a manipulative, crazy person, she would have made much harsher and more dramatic accusations than these. © Arya_kidding_me / Reddit
- It’s almost ironic how easy it would have been for him to shut this entire thing down with the simplest of responses: “Hmm, you’re right, I’ll make sure to clean more.” That would have immediately countered points 2 and 3. But he’d rather be right, and he’d rather play the aggrieved party. You didn’t do anything wrong by trying to have a conversation off the back of that note. His reaction should tell you everything. © Mobius_Stripping / Reddit
- I’d be willing to bet money that the note is right. He sounds like the kind of man who will stop doing anything the second he decides a woman is fully trapped. The slow tapering off you’re witnessing is him testing the waters. He needs to figure out whether he just needs to waste enough of your time to get to that stage, or whether you need a ring or a baby to feel trapped. © Extension_Drummer_85 / Reddit
- “Don’t expect to change a man unless he’s in diapers.” This behavior will continue on, he’s gotten away with it before up to a certain point. He wants someone to pick up after him like his mommy.
Any time a guy says, “My ex is/was crazy,” is a MASSIVE red flag right there. It’s something guys have been saying since the dawn of time to belittle their former partners. He’ll say the same thing about you to his next girlfriend. You have to ask yourself, “Was she crazy, or did he drive her crazy with his behavior and laziness?” I’d leave your own note when you do finally dump him. And reach out to his ex, see what she has to say. © Equal-Brilliant2640 / Reddit
When trust is broken between couples, it often leads to a surge of emotional and psychological turmoil, including feelings of uncertainty and profound confusion. In a different scenario, a woman shared a fascinating story of her own sleuthing skills. She discovered her husband was cheating simply by paying close attention to his breakfast order.
Old Man Shuts the Door on Annoying Teen, but a Hurricane Exposes the Truth About Her – Story of the Day
When a grouchy old man slams the door on a persistent teen, he thinks he’s rid of her for good. But when a hurricane traps them together, the storm outside reveals the truth about her shocking connection to his past.
Frank had lived alone for many years. The quiet suited him, and he’d long accepted the absence of friends or family in his life. So, when he heard a knock at the door one Saturday morning, he was startled but more annoyed than curious.
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With a heavy groan, he pushed himself out of his recliner. When he opened the door, he saw a teenage girl standing on the porch, no older than sixteen.
Before she could speak, Frank snapped, “I don’t want to buy anything, I don’t want to join any church, I don’t support homeless kids or kittens, and I’m not interested in environmental issues.” Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door shut.
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He turned to leave but froze when the doorbell rang again. With a sigh, he shuffled back to his chair, grabbed the remote, and turned up the TV volume.
The weather report showed a hurricane warning for the city. Frank glanced at it briefly, then shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” he mumbled. His basement was built to withstand anything.
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The doorbell didn’t stop. It kept ringing, over and over. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Each ring grated on Frank’s nerves. Finally, he stomped back to the door, muttering to himself. He flung it open with a scowl.
“What?! What do you want?!” he barked, his voice echoing down the quiet street.
The girl stood there, calm, her eyes fixed on him. “You’re Frank, right? I need to talk to you,” she said.
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Frank narrowed his eyes. “Let’s say I am. Who are you, and why are you on my porch? Where are your parents?”
“My name is Zoe. My mom died recently. I don’t have any parents now,” she said, her voice steady.
“I couldn’t care less,” Frank snapped. He grabbed the edge of the door and started to push it closed.
Before it could shut, Zoe pressed her hand against it. “Aren’t you curious why I’m here?” she asked, her tone unwavering.
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“The only thing I’m curious about,” Frank growled, “is how long it’ll take you to leave my property and never come back!” He shoved her hand off the door and slammed it so hard the frame rattled.
The doorbell stopped. Frank peered through the curtains, checking the yard. It was empty.
With a deep sigh, he turned away, feeling victorious. Little did he know, this was only the beginning of his nightmare.
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The next morning, Frank woke up, grumbling as he dragged himself to the front door to grab his newspaper.
His jaw dropped when he saw the state of his house. Smashed eggs dripped down the walls, their sticky residue glinting in the sunlight.
Large, crude words were scrawled across the paint in messy black letters, making his blood boil.
“What in the world?!” he shouted, looking around the street, but it was empty.
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Grinding his teeth, he stormed back inside, grabbed his cleaning supplies, and spent the entire day scrubbing.
His hands ached, his back throbbed, and he swore under his breath with every stroke.
By evening, exhausted but relieved to see the walls clean, he stepped onto his porch with a cup of tea.
But his relief was short-lived. Garbage was scattered across his yard—cans, old food, and torn papers littered the lawn.
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“Stupid girl!” he shouted at no one in particular, his voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood.
He stomped down the steps, grabbed some trash bags, and began cleaning. As he bent to pick up a rotten tomato, his eyes caught a note taped to his mailbox.
He yanked it off and read aloud, “Just listen to me, and I’ll stop bothering you. —Zoe.” At the bottom, scrawled in bold numbers, was a phone number.
Frank crumpled the note and hurled it into the trash.
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The next morning, loud shouting woke him. He looked outside to see a group of people waving signs.
“Who the hell are you?!” he yelled, opening the window.
“We’re here for the environment! Thanks for letting us use your yard!” a hippie-looking woman called.
Fuming, Frank grabbed a broom and chased them off. Once they were gone, he noticed a caricature of himself drawn on the driveway with the caption, “I hate everyone.”
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On his front door was another note:
“Just listen to me, or I’ll come up with more ways to annoy you.
—Zoe.
P.S. The paint doesn’t wash off.”
And again at the bottom was a phone number.
Frank stormed inside, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed the phone and dialed Zoe’s number with shaking hands. “Come to my house. Now,” he barked and hung up before she could respond.
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When Zoe arrived, her jaw dropped. Two police officers stood on the porch beside Frank, their expressions serious.
“What the—? Are you kidding me?!” Zoe shouted, glaring at him.
Frank folded his arms and smirked. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Guess what? You’re not.”
The officers cuffed Zoe. “You old jerk!” she yelled as they led her to the car. Frank watched, smug, believing this was the end of his troubles.
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The next day, the city issued a hurricane warning. The winds howled, bending trees and tossing debris down the empty streets.
Frank looked out the window as he prepared to head for his basement. His eyes widened when he spotted Zoe outside, clutching her backpack and stumbling against the wind.
“What are you doing out there?!” Frank shouted, flinging open the door. The wind nearly tore it from his hand.
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Zoe turned, her hair whipping around her face. “What does it look like?! I’m looking for shelter!” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. “I have nowhere else to go!”
“Then come inside!” Frank barked, stepping onto the porch.
“No way!” Zoe snapped. “I’d rather face this hurricane than go in your house!”
Frank gritted his teeth. “You were desperate to talk to me yesterday. What changed now?”
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“I realized you’re a selfish, grumpy idiot!” Zoe shot back.
Frank had enough. He stomped down the steps, grabbed her backpack, and hauled her toward the door.
“Let me go!” Zoe screamed, twisting against his grip. “I’m not going with you! Let me go!”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Frank bellowed, slamming the door behind them. “Stay out there, and you’ll die!”
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“Maybe that’s fine! I have nothing left anyway! ” Zoe yelled, her face red. “And do you think your stupid house is some kind of fortress?!”
“My basement is fortified,” Frank growled. “It’s survived worse than this. Follow me.”
Zoe glared at him but hesitated. After a moment, she sighed and trudged after him toward the basement.
The basement was surprisingly cozy. It looked like a small, well-used living room. A single bed sat tucked in one corner, with shelves of old books lining the walls.
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A pile of paintings leaned against the far side, their colors muted by age. Zoe glanced around, unimpressed, then dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh.
“You wanted to say something? Now’s your chance,” Frank said, standing stiffly near the stairs.
“Now you’re ready to listen?” Zoe asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re stuck here for who knows how long. Might as well get it over with,” Frank replied, leaning against a shelf and folding his arms.
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“Fine,” Zoe said. She reached into her backpack, pulled out some folded papers, and handed them to him.
Frank frowned as he took them. “What’s this?”
“My emancipation papers,” Zoe said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Frank blinked. “What?”
“It’s so I can live on my own,” Zoe explained. “Without parents. Without guardians.”
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“How old are you?” Frank asked, squinting at the documents.
“Sixteen… almost,” Zoe replied, her voice firm.
“And why do you need my signature?” Frank asked, looking at her sharply.
Zoe met his eyes without hesitation. “Because you’re my only living relative. I’m your granddaughter. Remember your wife? Your daughter?”
Frank’s face paled. “That’s impossible.”
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“It’s very possible,” Zoe said with a cold laugh. “Social services gave me your address. When Grandma talked about you, I thought she was exaggerating. Now I see she didn’t tell me half of it.”
“I’m not signing this. You’re still a child. The system can take care of you.”
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“You’re joking, right?” Zoe snapped. “You were a terrible father and husband! You left Grandma and Mom to chase some fantasy about painting. Your art isn’t even good—I was better at five! And now, after all that, you won’t even sign a piece of paper to help me?”
Frank’s hands clenched. “It was my dream to be an artist!” he shouted.
“It was my dream too!” Zoe shot back. “But Grandma’s gone. Mom’s gone. And you’re the only family I have. You’re also the worst person I’ve ever met!”
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They sat in silence after that, the tension heavy in the room. Frank knew Zoe was right. He had been selfish. Back then, he had seen only his art, blind to everything else.
After two hours, Frank finally spoke. “Do you even have a place to stay?”
“I’m working on it,” Zoe muttered. “I’ve got a job. I still have Mom’s car. I can manage.”
“You should be in school, not figuring out how to survive,” Frank said.
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“Life doesn’t work out the way we want,” Zoe replied, her voice soft but firm.
For the next few hours, Frank sat silently, watching Zoe sketch in her notebook. Her pencil moved with confidence, every stroke purposeful.
He hated to admit it, but her art was bold, creative, and alive. It was far better than anything he had ever painted.
The radio crackled to life, its monotone voice announcing the hurricane had passed. The storm was over.
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Frank stood, his joints stiff, and gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s go up,” he said. Once upstairs, he glanced at Zoe and handed her the signed documents without a word.
“You were right,” he said, his voice low. “I was a terrible husband. A lousy father too. I can’t change any of that. But maybe I can help change someone’s future.”
Zoe stared at the papers for a moment, then slipped them into her backpack. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Frank looked at her and nodded. “Don’t stop painting. You’ve got talent.”
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Zoe slung the bag over her shoulder. “Life decided otherwise,” she said, heading for the door.
“You can stay here,” Frank said suddenly.
Zoe froze. “What?”
“You can live here,” Frank said. “I can’t undo my mistakes, but I also can’t throw my own granddaughter out on the street.”
“Do you really want me to stay?” Zoe asked.
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“Not exactly,” Frank admitted. “But I think we might both learn something.”
Zoe smirked. “Fine. Thanks. But I’m taking all your art supplies. I’m way better than you.”
She turned toward the basement. Frank shook his head. “Stubborn and arrogant. You get that from me.”
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