That's right, Alina—an APOLOGY. Maybe if you took one moment to not just think about yourself and tried a little empathy, you might understand why you are met with so much anger by the men you wrong. Maybe, just maybe, if you think about the person I was—the person who worried about you 24/7, who travelled thousands of miles for you, who was willing to leave his world for you, the person who tried to help with your work, who encouraged you and did work for you, who sent flowers on a weekly basis, who sent you blankets when you were cold, who lay awake worrying about you… yes, small gestures, but gestures of care and love. Maybe ask yourself how a man goes from that to feeling like this. Maybe then you will be even a small step closer to knowing what you are. But you won't, because it's always someone else's fault; because if you admit these things, you will have to come to terms with what you are: a user, a liar, a destroyer of love and truth.

It has taken me over a week to try and write this message because I want it to be my last, but I also want to write it with as little resentment as possible. That is hard when I think of you, as I still have memories of the person I thought you were, sometimes I even have to fight myself to say these harsh words, but I have to—I have to exorcise the demon that you are from my memory for good; I have to destroy, like you have. But then I wake up and feel the resentment and anger of how you treated me at the end, and how you constantly try to justify it by proclaiming that I did things wrong, rather than accepting the cold, hard reality of my situation at the time. I have to remind myself you are not who you pretended to be and that you are not worth my energy. You have spent your adult life running from the mess you leave behind. I hope that in years to come you will read this and have some humility, enough to acknowledge the pain your acting and lies caused—but most of all, that when you run and don't end things in the correct manner, you mess people up.

I will start by replying to your message.

“You are forcing me to change my phone number. Your late-night calls are unacceptable and they must stop.”

Good! Please change your number; it will benefit us both. I never plan to call you again. A mixture of alcohol and the different time zones here in America led to a few drunk moments of weakness which I always regret. As for you finding them unacceptable, I simply do not care what you think.

I have no respect for who or what you are. This message may seem harsh and cold, but this is what happens when you hurt someone so deeply that you professed to love, and when you throw them aside and just block and ghost them—no phone call, no video call, just a collection of lies.

You do not get automatic respect in life; respect is earned, and you have earned nothing. So please, go ahead and change your number.

“I do not understand what reaction you are expecting after your last message: ‘Fuck off, lazy cam whore’.”

As I explained, those were moments of weakness. Do I regret calling you that? Did I mean it? At this moment in time, I just don’t know.

“You are mistaken if you think that I was not hurting just because I stayed silent. I did not drag you into my struggles; I dealt with it myself and accepted responsibility for my action and its consequences”

This really is the crux of the issue and describes you in a nutshell. No, I don’t believe for a minute you were hurting, Alina. You chose your path because you thought you were getting a better deal, a better choice. What do you mean you dealt with it yourself? You didn't deal with anything; you blocked and ghosted someone you said you loved and used for company when you were bored at work. What did you need to deal with, Alina? Did I deliberately hurt you? No. You don't seem to understand responsibility; you act selfishly and play the victim. You chose this path. You chose it without warning to me, just like that—it was cold and brutal, and then you complain about the mess you leave behind and the hurt you cause. That's not how it works, Alina—you created the mess. I did nothing to deserve your treatment. You chose it and tried to blame it on everything other than the truth… then you wonder why I harbour so much animosity towards you; you are so wrapped up in yourself, you can't for a minute think that I had sleepless nights worrying about your safety, was making preparations to come to you, to leave my country, friends and family, was prepared to go anywhere for you, but because of your shortsightedness and no grasp on economics, you chose to use him instead.

“I have already paid for it physically, emotionally and financially. I have nothing left to atone for and nothing to prove to you.”

Spare me. Emotions you have none. These are all the consequences of your own conscious decisions. I NEVER EVER DID ANYTHING TO DELIBERATELY HURT YOU. Stop weaponising tragedy—as much as there was joint responsibility, you are the one who made choices, deciding not to tell me your fertility and contraception status. You are the one who would not listen to me when I suggested resolving things in Ukraine. I will not hear any more of your financial bullshit just because I had substantial tax bills to pay, as every businessman does at that time of year. Let's get one thing straight, Alina: I had no issue spending money on you—I did it because I wanted to, and I would have continued to, because that's what you do when you love someone and want to make them happy. It's not a right, but I am tired of hearing this bullshit. I spent thousands on you, not your pittance of lira—proper money. I spent money on flights, hotels, meals, flowers, gifts, books, perfume, small gestures, not to mention cancelled flights and cancelled language courses. I was looking at apartments and Airbnbs in Ukraine and Turkey at no expense to you—I even asked if I needed to match what you were leeching off your boyfriend on the night you cut me off. Even when you were on your way to Italy after you had hurt me, I offered to pay for a flight to the UK that would have seen you go via Paris and spend time in London in a nice hotel. So no, Alina, stop this sob story at once—you fucked up. So spare me your sob story about money—I'm no longer a fool or naive like your boyfriend or your ex-husband; I have seen the real you. I am sick of hearing it—you leech off your boyfriend, your lover, and your cam work. Stop it now; I will not hear any more about money. Your choices, Alina, and your lack of patience and willingness to understand business costs and tax for a business at the end of the year and financial quarter.