The Man Who Became My Home

Two years ago, I swore I would never fall in love again.

Not after what happened.

Not after giving so much of myself to a man who,deep down,was never going to love me the way I loved him. I trusted him completely, and he turned that trust into a weapon.

When he left, something inside me broke. I didn’t just lose him, I lost the belief that love could be real for me. For a while, I told myself it was fine. I told myself I was strong, that I didn’t need love. But the truth? I was tired. I was hurt, and I was done searching for something that felt more like a fairy tale than a reality.

So I went back to what was familiar, my kids’ dad, Andrew. He needed me, and in a strange way, I needed him too. Not for romance, not for passion, but for stability. I had already accepted that we would never have the kind of love I once dreamed of, the kind that makes your heart race and your world feel brighter.

The men in my life had told me over and over that I asked for too much. That I lived in a fantasy. Eventually, I believed them. I convinced myself that the love I wanted, the deep, soul-consuming kind, was reserved for storybooks and movies. I settled because it was easier than hurting. I settled because it was safer than the unknown.

When Andrew and I got back together, I was clear: I was staying non-monogamous. But I gave our relationship a year before I opened myself to meeting anyone new. In truth, I wasn’t looking for anyone. I didn’t even want a relationship, not even with him, not with anyone. I was still carrying the ghost of someone else.

That man, the one I couldn’t shake, was unlike anyone I’d ever met. He got into my head so quickly, learning how I ticked, how I thought, what I needed to hear. It was intoxicating. I thought our connection was the deepest I’d ever known. But it was built on lies. Lies that kept me hooked, believing we could be something we were never going to be. I see it now. We were never going to meet. We were never going to be together. He abandoned me when I needed him most. He used my mental illness against me, twisting my vulnerabilities into chains that kept me tied to him.

So I let go of the dream. I stayed with Andrew… not because he was my great love, but because he was here. He paid the bills, he provided our home, and because he is my kids’ dad.

It wasn’t about love. It was survival.

Things with Andrew would never go back to the way they were before.

He too lied to me, betrayed me, and abandoned his family for fun.

As the months bled into years, the sharp pain in my chest dulled, but it didn’t disappear.

Time patched the hole in my heart, but it healed crooked, leaving me all lopsided inside.

The warmth I once carried was replaced by something colder, harder. Bitterness crept in slowly, like frost crawls across glass.

Still, I used that time to work on myself. I fought to understand my BPD instead of letting it define me. But after twenty long months of missing Raven, of aching for a connection I thought would never come again, I made a promise to myself, no more love. Not because I didn’t want it deep down, but because I was terrified. Terrified that nothing would ever match what I had with him. For so long, all I wanted was that feeling again… until I realized I didn’t want it anymore.

Even if I did, I couldn’t have it.

Being poly means you get to experience the beauty of different people, different energies, different ways of being seen. But my days became a blur. My life shrank into something colorless. I stopped living and started existing. By choosing Andrew, I had chosen safety over fulfillment. The bare minimum over the unknown. . . . I paid for it.

Over and over again, Andrew proved my happiness wasn’t a priority. As long as I was there, his constant, his convenience, he had no reason to worry.

No, Andrew wasn’t a drunk., he wasn’t on drugs.

No, he never raised a hand to me.

And yes, the bills got paid, mostly.

But safety isn’t the same as love.

It isn’t passion. It isn’t being seen.

I know what’s out there, men who destroy everything they touch. I chose the comfort of knowing Andrew wasn’t one of them.

My BPD whispered in my ear that maybe I didn’t deserve anything more anyway. That I wasn’t meant to have love, that I wasn’t even fit to be in one relationship, let alone two. I was unraveling, piece by piece.Raven wasn’t coming back. Andrew was… well, Andrew.

And me? I was lonely in a house full of people. My friends had moved away. My kids, as much as I loved them, couldn’t fill the hollow space inside me.

Some nights I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and the thought would sink in like poison: I’m just an unlovable monster.

My turning point came about nine months ago.

Something in me shifted, not in a grand way, but a slow, aching realization. I wanted people in my life again. Not just a warm body in the house or someone to split bills with. I wanted a connection. I took the plunge back into the modern battlefield of dating apps. I crafted a profile that was brutally honest about who I was and what I wanted. I didn’t sugarcoat the fact that I was non-monogamous. I knew most people wouldn’t go for it, and I was right. The majority of profiles I saw were from monogamous men who couldn’t fathom dating someone’s girlfriend.

Those who were interested… well, most of them just wanted to sleep with me. They weren’t looking for a partner, a friend, or a connection, they were looking for a night. I had no interest in being someone’s temporary thrill. I would just ignore them. After a few disappointing tries, I gave up. I retreated back into my comfort zone, losing myself in video games for a couple of months. Gaming was safe. Pixels couldn’t hurt me the way people could.

But the itch came back. The need to talk to someone who wasn’t Andrew, to have adult conversations that didn’t revolve around finances or his personal needs. I didn’t even care if it was romantic or flirty fun, I just wanted someone to laugh with, game with, or stay up late talking about everything and nothing. This time, I widened my search. I joined more dating sites. I even made a FetLife account, hoping maybe a more open-minded crowd would exist there. I didn’t just look for partners, I looked for friends. I joined communities, became active in group chats, and slowly put myself back into the world. The messages poured in, hundreds of them. I ignored 90% without a second thought.

“Hey beautiful.”

“How are you?”

Lazy one-liners with no effort, no spark, no attempt to stand out. If their profile was blank? Deleted. If they were clearly just fishing for attention? Blocked.

In my profiles, I even dropped my Discord tag for anyone who actually wanted to connect. But predictably, most men didn’t bother to read past the pictures.

Out of the 10% I did respond to, the majority turned out to be playing some kind of game, chasing without any real intention. No one lasted more than a week. Talking for a few days, then disappearing, became my new normal. It wasn’t even about romance anymore. I just wanted someone to care enough to stay. Someone who would take a few hours out of their day to be present. Instead, I was learning the quiet, exhausting truth: It’s not just love that’s hard to find.

It’s people.

Deep down, I wanted to be loved.

Not the kind of love that fades when life gets hard, not the transactional kind that comes with conditions, but the kind that makes your chest ache in the best way.

But I didn’t think it existed. Not for me. Somewhere along the way, I started believing it was a Disney lie. A bedtime story for children that grown-ups eventually outgrow. If it was real, I told myself I was too old now, too used-up, too broken to ever find it.

I convinced myself I didn’t deserve it, that people like me, people with cracks and scars and a history, should just be grateful for whatever scraps we get.

Trust? I didn’t think I’d ever give that to another man again. My trust had been taken, twisted, and used as a weapon against me before. Once you’ve been burned like that, you stop reaching for the flame. Some nights, I’d lie awake with the soft glow of the TV washing over me, watching my favorite love stories play out. I’d press my face into my pillow and let those late-night movies and shows dig into a part of me I kept buried, and it hurt. I’d listen to love songs, too, the kind that made my chest feel hollow. Sometimes they made me sad, sometimes they made me angry, because I had never felt what those lyrics promised. Never.

What I wanted wasn’t unreasonable.

I didn’t want to be spoiled with gifts or attention that fades.

I wanted to be cherished.

I wanted someone to see me, not just look at me, but see me, and be proud to show me off to the world. I wanted laughter that felt safe, not the cruel kind that makes you feel small.

I wanted a partner, not a caretaker. A protector, not a bully.

I wanted a man who would love my mind and my body, not in spite of who I am, but because of it. But instead, I was adrift, lonely, hurt, and convinced that the kind of love I longed for was something I would only ever watch on a screen, or read in a book, never feel in my own life.

I knew I would never know that warm and gentle glow.

Then one day (July 11th, 2025) everything changed.

It started with a message from a user named “Lolly” at about seven in the morning. He wrote that he was just waking up and hoped to hear from me later. Half an hour after that came another message: “Or not.” This time, he included his real name,Matthew, and told me I could find him on Facebook. I didn’t see the messages for hours. It was after three in the afternoon when I finally read them, debating whether I should reply. That “Or not” comment set off a small alarm in my head, the kind of red flag that made me want to hit delete. But I remembered all the posts I’d read about how hard it is for men to navigate online dating. Maybe it was just frustration talking.

Curiosity won…

I typed his name into Facebook, and the moment his profile loaded, I froze. He was incredibly handsome, the kind of handsome that made my stomach do a slow, rolling flip. His smile pulled me in instantly. Scrolling through his page, I noticed he played music, a weakness of mine. Music has always been my language, my comfort, my escape. Now here was a man I was actually attracted to, who spoke that same language.

The “Or not” comment still nagged at me, but I pushed it aside and sent him a simple wave emoji. He responded right away, telling me he was playing an Elder Scrolls game.

Our first day of conversation stayed light, gaming talk, the safe territory.

The next day, we compared where we were from. It felt almost like fate’s little twist, me, from Northeast Ohio where he lives now; him, from Southeast Ohio where I live now. That night we played Palworld together for the first time. I loved it. He seemed… unsure, maybe because it was new to him. I tried to make sure he understood everything, wanting him to have a good time.

Then came the moment that could have sent me running. Matthew told me he was living in a halfway house, that he had done time in prison. My curiosity kicked in hard. The next morning, I Googled his name, and there it was.

An article about a kid sentenced for murder. Mug shots. Dates. Details. It was him. The same man who had just been laughing with me about catching digital creatures the night before. At first, I was unsettled, my heart beating faster, my mind trying to slot this new information into the person I’d been talking to. But after sitting with it, I decided not to judge him by his past. He seemed kind. Shy, even. Maybe, just maybe, he needed a friend as badly as I did.

Over the next few days, we kept playing games together. The conversations deepened, we were peeling back layers on both sides. I started to smile again without forcing it. I caught myself humming during the day. I hadn’t felt this light in years.

It scared me. I took a step back to talk with my primary partner about the possibility of having a romantic relationship with Matthew. I wanted to be sure, really sure, that I wasn’t rushing into something reckless just because it felt good. But the truth was, I didn’t want this to end. In fact, I wanted more.

I just didn’t know if Matthew wanted more too… or if I was just a friend to him.

That weekend, I found myself scrolling through his Facebook again, looking at every post, every photo, searching for signs, for clues. All the while, the same thought kept circling in my head: Do I take the risk and ask?

Around that same time, I started talking to Andrew about moving back to Tucson, Arizona.

I was sick of feeling trapped in my own misery, sick of living in a place that felt like it was slowly swallowing me whole. I wanted to go somewhere I could work, build a future, and give my kids a better life.

But the conversation exploded into a fight.

Andrew didn’t seem to care, not about my unhappiness, not about Matthew, not about anything. His indifference was a cold slap in the face. It wasn’t just that he didn’t support me, he didn’t see me. At that moment, I realized something, if I had to stay stuck in this miserable place, then I would at least find my own happiness.

I told Andrew about my feelings for Matthew. I didn’t hide it. I decided to go for it, cautiously, but with intention. That weekend, I messaged Matthew and told him I’d be busy. Which was true.

I was busy arguing with Andrew, busy sitting in the wreckage of my life and asking myself if letting my feelings grow for Matthew was the right thing to do.

But deep down, I knew. I had been praying, literally praying, for something real, for a connection that didn’t feel fake or forced. Here it was. Matthew and I fit together without even trying.

When I came back to our chats after that weekend, something had shifted. He was opening up to me in a way that felt rare and precious. I loved what I saw coming from inside him. We were flirting more, laughing more, and I found myself smiling without even realizing it.

Of course, that’s when Andrew suddenly started paying attention. I told him outright that I wanted to ask Matthew to be my boyfriend. But before I did, I needed to know where Matthew stood. I didn’t want to throw my heart out there just to watch it hit the ground.

It took me a few days to work up the courage. My stomach was in knots. Finally, I just asked: "Do you think our relationship could go anywhere?" During one of our conversations. What followed was a long, serious conversation, one that would change everything.

From the very beginning, I tried to be transparent with Matthew. I told him about my mental illness. I told him I was poly. I told him my primary partner was a narcissist. I didn’t want there to be any illusions about who I was or the life I lived. We talked about what our relationship might look like with him being on parole. We talked about family, trauma, the kinds of things most people keep locked away. When it came to his past, his incarceration and his charges,I didn’t push. I let him bring it up in his own time. I wanted him to feel safe with me, to know that I wasn’t here to interrogate him. I assured him I already knew, and that I was still here.

Matthew was honest, brutally honest. He never tried to hide anything from me. Maybe, in my own way, I tried too hard to do the same. I told him the ugly truths about myself, my flaws, the ways I could be difficult. I wasn’t trying to scare him away, but that night, he thought I was. For a few seconds, I thought I had. But then he told me he wasn’t going anywhere.

He told me he wanted this relationship. He told me he would never leave me.

I’d heard those words before, from men who all eventually walked away. Part of me wanted to shield myself from believing them. But there was something in his voice, in the way he said it, that made me think he needed me to believe him. Like if I didn’t, it would crack something inside him. The truth was, I wanted to believe him too. I decided I would. I’d enjoy what we had.

I’d take him at his word, and as long as he kept it, I would keep believing. If one day his feelings changed, I’d take the blame. I know people change. I know life happens.

But right now? Matthew wanted forever just as much as I did.

On July 25th, 2025, he asked me to be his girl. He asked before I could. I said “YES” without hesitation. What he didn’t know was that I’d already been his girl in my heart for days.

After that, I couldn’t get him out of my head. Every intimate moment we’d shared replayed in my mind like my own private movie. I stared at every picture he sent me, memorizing the curve of his smile, the ink on his skin, the lines of his face. I couldn’t get enough of him, and the feeling was undeniably mutual.

Things moved fast after that, maybe too fast . . . but I didn’t care. I was all in.

I’d forgotten what it felt like to want someone this much, to feel wanted this much in return.

Sometimes the intensity of it scares me. But it was far too late to back out. Not that I wanted to. But because by then, I was already falling, hard… and Matthew was falling right along with me.

Making things official with Matthew wasn’t easy, not because of him, but because of the storm that was already brewing in my life. Andrew saw my happiness and immediately felt threatened.

I’d been here before, with Raven. I recognized the pattern instantly, though this time, I’m grateful that Andrew and I handled it slightly better than I had with my past. But “better” didn’t mean “good.”

Andrew went for the jugular. He attacked my character, told me no one could ever love the “real me,” digging at my BPD and the way I get when I’m triggered.

Then came the comment I knew he meant to wound me, that Matthew looked like Raven. He knew exactly what he was doing, pressing on old scars, manipulating my mind. He purposely pushed me until I snapped, starting fights designed to scare Matthew away. He threatened to harm himself, throwing out cruel, cutting words about Matthew’s past. It was ugly.

Eventually, Andrew apologized, he knew he had gone too far. But that week, he tried every trick in the book to sabotage us.

But Matthew? He stayed.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t back away. He showed up every day, just like he had before, as if to say, I’m not going anywhere. In some twisted way, Andrew’s interference only pulled Matthew and me closer together.

When the noise from my primary partner faded, Matthew and I lived in our own little world. A safe space just for us. He built me a chatbot for my Discord server. He sent me beautiful AI-generated pictures he thought I’d like, and I didn’t just like them, I loved them.

We tried playing a text-based RPG, and when that fizzled, we wrote a sexy story together instead. We started planning adventures for when he gets out of the halfway house. We made a list of 1,001 movies and shows to watch together.

Sometimes, when I think about him getting out, a cold fear creeps in, that once real life starts, he’ll move on. I tell myself it’s just my BPD whispering poison in my ear. But even if that day came, I’d still treasure what we have now. I’m used to being a placeholder in people’s lives.

But deep in my soul, I know this is different. I’ve never had a connection this strong, this fast.

I have never been this sure about anyone. I have never felt so safe and lavished with love.

It wasn’t the grand gestures that made me believe Matthew was mine forever.

It was the small things, the quiet moments when no one was watching, that told me I had found everything I’d ever wanted in a true love. We are in tune with each other in a way I didn’t know was possible. Emotionally, mentally… and one day, physically. It’s like our thoughts run parallel, as if we’re reading from the same page without even trying.

Matthew is kind in ways that can’t be faked.

When I don’t know a word or how something works, he never makes me feel stupid. He explains patiently, taking the time to help me understand. There’s never a sigh, never an eye roll, only quiet encouragement. I have never known this from a loved one.

He’s brilliant. He seems to know a little about everything, and I love the way his mind works. We play trivia together, and I catch myself smiling just listening to the way he talks about random facts. He’s offered to teach me how to play the piano, his voice soft and warm when he promises, “You’ll be good at it.”

One day he bought my favorite book, not just to read it, but to understand me better. To see the world through something I love. That small gesture broke me open in the best way, because it wasn’t about the book, it was about him wanting to step into my mind and heart.

We’ve never met face to face, and oddly enough, I’m grateful for that. It forces us to build something solid before we risk moving too fast. There’s no rushing, no letting physical attraction cloud the truth of who we are together.

Still… I am consumed by him.

Even when the screen goes dark, he lingers in my thoughts.

When I wake up, he’s there in my mind. When I fall asleep, he’s there too, woven into my dreams, stitched into my heartbeat. He is my dream lover, the one I have been looking for.

I know, with a certainty that scares me and comforts me all at once, Matthew isn’t just someone I love. He’s the person I’ve been waiting for my entire life.

Matthew has changed my life.

In just one month, he has given me something I never thought I’d have again, hope.

He may not be my primary partner, but he is just as important. I see him in my life forever, and I am more than willing to build a future with him in it. I will fight for him as hard as he fights for me. I refuse to let Andrew (or anyone) destroy what we’ve built.

I call Matthew my Gem because he is rare, precious, and impossible to replace. He loves loudly, without hesitation. He is honest, open, and willing to communicate in a way that makes me feel safe. I am endlessly grateful that he is as open-minded as I am, because it means we can dream without limits. I can’t put into words how lucky I feel to have found him, and I can’t put into words how angry I am that anyone ever took his love for granted. I already feel a deep dislike for those who have wronged him, as if their cruelty was a personal offense to me.

Matthew has become my light on a stormy night, the colors on my gray days. He is my comfort, my safe place, my rock, and my home. I look forward to the future in a way I haven’t in years. Other than my kids, he is the reason I wake up with something to look forward to.

I can’t wait for the day I get to feel his arms around me, bury my face in his chest, and wrap myself in him like a blanket I never want to take off. I can’t wait for our eyes to meet for the first time and to see his smile in person. I can’t wait for our first kiss, for the feel of his fingers intertwined with mine.

I dream of the day I can completely surrender myself to him, mind, body, and soul, and make the most passionate love either of us has ever known. I want to be his in every way that I can be. I want our souls to merge until there is no longer a me without him. I have never loved like this. I have never been loved like this. It doesn’t feel like a race I’m trying to win, it feels like I’ve already crossed the finish line, and my prize is him. My love. My Matthew.

I can’t wait for our adventures, our 1,001 movies, the tattoos, celebrating milestones together, matching Christmas jammies, and wandering pumpkin patches in the crisp autumn air. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives. But I have to wait. And I love him so much… I would wait forever.

I never expected to fall in love, certainly not like this, not so fast, not so completely. But those long nights of playing Pal World together have grown into something far more precious.

It wasn’t just the game. It was the way Matthew took time out for me, the way he invested in me as much as I invested in him. That’s what won me over. In a world where so many people treat love as disposable, finding someone willing to truly give of themselves feels like a rare miracle.

I have always wanted happiness. I have always wanted peace. And somehow, Matthew has brought both into my life. I don’t care what he did as a kid. That is not the man I know. The man I know is honest, loving, and talented, with a heart that is finally free to catch up on the living he’s missed. I am honored, beyond words, to be the one beside him for the rest of his journey.

It has been my absolute pleasure to keep him company, to laugh with him, to share the quiet moments, and to fall for him as hard as I have. He knows me as well as the people who have been in my life for decades, maybe even better, because he has taken the time to truly know me. Not the surface version of me. Not the mask I’ve worn for others. He has seen the real me and stayed. That alone is a gift I will never take for granted.