10/09/2025
I'm 35F, and I really thought I'd found the one. Gavin (39M) was charming, gentle, the kind of guy who made you feel seen. We met at a friend's barbecue — he told me I had "eyes that hold stories."
He said he was divorced from a "TOXIC" ex and that he still helped raise her adopted daughter, Mila — a 6-year-old battling leukemia.
He claimed he was still paying for her chemo even after the split. That melted me. A man who stayed loyal to a sick child he didn't share DNA with? I thought I'd hit the jackpot.
For a year, everything was perfect — coffee at my desk, goodnight calls, "sweetheart" texts. Then he started pulling away.
One night, I found him staring at his phone, eyes red.
"It's Mila," he said. "THE CHEMO ISN'T WORKING! They're trying something new, but insurance won't cover it. It's... $18,000."
I had savings from my parents' inheritance. Without thinking, I wired him the money.
He kissed my hands, told me I was "SAVING A LIFE." For weeks, I believed I was.
Whenever I asked about Mila, he'd get vague. "She's weak, honey, can't take visitors right now." Or "her immune system's shot — her mom's keeping her isolated."
One night I suggested sending her a card. His face went pale. "LET'S NOT OVERWHELM HER, OKAY?! SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW ABOUT YOU — TOO MUCH STRESS COULD MAKE HER WORSE!"
It stung, but I understood.
Yet, he'd go out often "to meet with Mila's doctors" in another state and sometimes he'd come back smelling like cologne I didn't wear.
So one evening, when Gavin said he was "flying to New York for a few days for Mila's treatment," I did something I'd never done before: I opened his laptop.
And what I found in his email inbox, full of correspondence, made MY BLOOD RUN COLD.⬇️⬇️⬇️