For months I paid for dinners, gifts, and even his emergencies, until I accidentally overheard the cruelest taunt: “You’re just free food”; the worst part wasn’t the humiliation, but discovering that all his gestures had been an act.

I remained seated with my glass of wine and a slice of cake while I imagined Mitch standing at the entrance of that restaurant in the expensive jacket I bought him. He was likely struggling to understand why the world was no longer arranging itself for his personal benefit.

“This is not funny and I need us to talk right now,” his final message read. I knew that the moment had finally arrived to face the truth and I replied to him at twenty-six minutes past eight.

“Why would Free Food make a reservation for a table for you?” I asked in my reply. It took less than ten seconds for the notification to appear that he was typing a response that seemed to get stuck in his throat.

He sent several messages in a row claiming that it was just a joke and that he was only showing off in front of Tessa. He begged me to let him explain and admitted that he knew he had said something incredibly stupid.

I let him worry for another night before I finally agreed to let him come to the apartment on Sunday afternoon. He arrived looking like he had not slept a single wink and he sat on the couch while I remained standing across from him.