When Jake suggested we move to Alaska for two years to save money and build our future, I agreed instantly. But after one last weekend with my girlfriends, I returned home to a shock that shattered everything.
I’m Chloe, 25, living in my mom’s old South Carolina house while freelancing as a graphic designer. The place was cozy, with her beloved porch and garden. Jake moved in two years into our relationship, and at first, it felt perfect—movie nights, shared dinners, morning coffee dreams. But soon, “playing house” meant me carrying the house.
Jake quit his marketing job, claiming his boss was “too demanding.” Eight months passed with him unemployed, living off savings and my income while I paid for groceries, utilities, everything but his car. He spent days gaming, watching crypto videos, or hanging with equally jobless friends.
Still, I believed in him. One night, he proposed—no ring, no grand gesture, just heartfelt words. I said yes. He promised a ring and dream wedding once he got back on his feet.
Weeks later, my mom Denise visited from Alaska. Practical and tough, she listened as Jake confessed feeling like a failure. She told him, “Being down doesn’t make you a failure. Staying down does.”
After returning home, Mom called with an idea: “Come to Alaska. Live rent-free with me. Work hard, save big.” She explained that fishing season and winter jobs could net us $50,000 each in two years. Jake lit up—wedding, house, ring, all possible. I was thrilled. We set a move date.
Two days before leaving, my girlfriends whisked me to Charleston for a farewell weekend. I came back early, pralines in hand, eager for one last night with Jake. But when I opened the door, my boxes were stacked by the entrance. His weren’t anywhere.
“Jake?” I called. He sat on the couch, watching TV. Calmly, he said, “I’m not going anymore.”
Confused, I pressed him. He shrugged: “Alaska isn’t for me. You’ll be fine without me. I’ll stay here.” Then, the bathroom door opened—and out walked Maddie, wearing his t-shirt. “Hi, I’m Maddie,” she said. Jake introduced her as his new girlfriend, casually explaining she’d live there while I was gone.
I left silently, checked into an airport hotel, and called Mom. Through tears, I told her Jake had used the Alaska plan to push me out and move Maddie in. Her response: “That absolute piece of garbage.”
The next morning, I flew to Alaska alone. Mom hugged me at the airport: “I’m proud of you—for leaving, for choosing yourself.”
I found work at a fishing operation. The labor was tough but exhilarating. Soon, my friends Brandon and Leo called: “We’re evicting Jake and Maddie. Don’t worry, justice will be served.” Days later, Brandon sent a photo of them loading a U-Haul. The locks were changed. My house was mine again.
Months passed. I thrived in Alaska—working, learning, healing. Then I met Nate, a kind, hardworking man from Oregon. Coffee turned into dinners, hikes, and weekends together. Unlike Jake, Nate treated me as a partner. Two years later, we bought a mountain house.
Looking back, Jake was right about one thing: Alaska suited me better. It gave me strength, adventure, loyal friends, and a man who truly loved me.
