“You will never find someone like me.”

They say every love story begins with a spark — a glance, a smile, a moment that makes your heart skip. Ruth met Sammy during their campus graduation, both draped in gowns of ambition and dreams, with hearts full of possibility.

The chemistry was instant. You know those couples you roll your eyes at because they’re too perfect? That was Ruth and Sammy. Instagram knew them, Facebook loved them, and their WhatsApp statuses were a live documentary of “Relationship Goals.” If you searched #CampusLove, their pictures would pop up faster than you could blink.

Ruth believed in forever — in slow morning kisses, late-night walks under starlit skies, and love songs that made sense because of him. Sammy was her best friend, her biggest cheerleader, and her prayer partner. Their love had that fairy-tale softness, the kind that makes you believe that some people actually do get it right on the first try.

But here’s the thing about fairy tales: no one talks about what happens after the “happily ever after.”

As the years rolled by, subtle changes crept in. The good morning texts became a routine, not a desire. The compliments turned into criticisms masked as jokes. And then came the first storm:
“You’re too emotional, Ruth.”
“Why are you always so sensitive?”
“I was just joking — can’t you take a joke?”

At first, Ruth brushed it off. Because Sammy was Sammy. Her Sammy. The one who held her hand through her mother’s illness. The one who cheered the loudest at her job promotion. Surely this wasn’t emotional abuse — it was just a bad season, right?

Until one day, after a silly argument over dinner plans, Sammy looked her in the eyes and said,
“You will never find someone like me.”

It hit her. Not like a punch, but like a slow poison. She laughed it off. But those words stuck like thorns in her soul.
She’d hear them after every disagreement.
Whenever she questioned something.
When she found a message from another woman.
When she said she wanted space.
“You’ll never find someone like me.”

And that’s when the love started turning into fear.

He didn’t hit her. No. Sammy wasn’t that kind of abuser. He used his words like weapons, sharp and strategic.
He controlled what she wore with “I just don’t want other men looking at you.”
He isolated her from her friends with “They’re jealous of us.”
He monitored her every move with “I just worry about you.”

And Ruth? She stayed. Because leaving him felt like walking into a world of loneliness and uncertainty.
Because he had convinced her that she was hard to love.
That no one else would choose her baggage.
That he was the best she could ever get.

But abuse doesn’t always come with bruises. Sometimes, it’s the slow erosion of self-worth.
And Ruth was cracking.

The turning point came one quiet Sunday afternoon. She was doing laundry, and Sammy — in one of his moods — started ranting about how ungrateful she was, how much he had sacrificed for her, how she never appreciated him.
Then he said it again, that line he loved so much:
“You will never find someone like me.”

Ruth stopped. Looked him dead in the eye and replied,
“God, I hope not.”

It was the first time she had really seen him — not as the boy from graduation, not as the man who once loved her, but as the person who had slowly chipped away at her light.

She left two weeks later. No drama. No closure conversation. Just a text that read:
“I deserve to feel safe in love. Goodbye.”

And yes, it was hard.
There were nights she missed him. Days she doubted herself.
But slowly, Ruth began finding pieces of herself she thought were lost forever.
She started smiling at her own reflection. Laughing at silly TikToks. Dancing in her living room. Loving herself.

To the women reading this who’ve heard those words — “you’ll never find someone like me” —
That’s not a warning.
It’s a promise.
And baby, may you never find someone like him.