My intuition was already screaming in my ear in the very first weeks:
— Run!
But my good manners, my patience, and that stubborn habit of always assuming the best in people kept silencing that voice again and again.
— Don’t be so suspicious. Maybe he’s just going through a hard time.
That’s how I kept convincing myself for nearly two months.
The internet is full of stories about greedy women or calculating women. We constantly hear that today’s women expect too much and are only interested in men’s wallets. But rarely does anyone talk about another type: men who almost imperceptibly live off other people’s generosity.
They don’t ask for loans.
They don’t beg for help.
They simply always happen to have something going wrong.
And in the end, you’re always the one paying.
That’s how it all started with Artúr.
We met at a professional conference. At first glance, he had everything you would expect from a mature, successful man. An elegant suit, confident presence, refined manners. He talked about the business world, investments, startups, and future plans. I had been working in marketing for over ten years, so I especially enjoyed that we could have intelligent conversations.
Our first date was perfect.
We met in a cozy café, talked for hours, and when the bill arrived, he paid without hesitation.
Now I know that was the only time.
On the second date we went to the cinema. At the ticket counter, he suddenly started nervously patting his suit pockets.
— Damn! — he said. — I left my wallet in the car and my phone is dead. Could you pay this time? I’ll transfer it to you right away.
Of course, I paid.
I didn’t want to make a scene over something so small.
But the repayment somehow never came.
I didn’t mention it.
I thought he had simply forgotten.
However, over the next few weeks, the same scene repeated itself again and again.
In a restaurant, his banking app suddenly didn’t work.
In a supermarket, he had left his card at home.
At a gas station, his knee supposedly hurt, so he asked me to go in and pay for him.
There was always some explanation.
Always some excuse.
And it always ended with the same sentence:
— Pay now, I’ll transfer it later.
Sometimes he actually did transfer it.
But only days or weeks later.
Other times, not at all.
What was truly strange was that he constantly talked about his success at the same time. Million-dollar projects, foreign investments, and his dream of buying a villa on the Spanish coast one day.
The more I listened, the stranger it all became.
If someone is that successful, why do they never have any money on them?
Why does every bill somehow end up on my side?
The final warning came on my birthday.
Artúr arrived empty-handed.
No flowers.
No gift.
Not even a small gesture.
— Darling — he said with a smile — I ordered you a beautiful necklace, but the delivery is delayed.
Of course, the necklace never arrived.
That evening, his bank card “accidentally” turned out to be missing again.
That’s when I decided to put an end to it.
I didn’t want an argument.
I didn’t want explanations.
I simply wanted him to feel, just once, what I had been feeling for months.
So I organized the final dinner.
I chose one of the most elegant restaurants in the city. White tablecloths, soft music, crystal glasses, and prices that make your heart beat faster automatically.
—I’d like to treat you to dinner — I told him.
His face immediately lit up.
That evening I wore my best dress, and he looked visibly proud to be sitting next to me.
When we got the menu, he leaned back generously.
— Order whatever you like.
And I did.
Oysters.
Beef carpaccio.
Premium wine.
And for the main course, a whole lobster in cream sauce.
At first, Artúr looked slightly nervous when he heard the orders, but he quickly relaxed.
After all, he was sure he wouldn’t have to pay.
The evening passed pleasantly. We talked, we laughed, and he once again told his usual stories about the injustices of the business world and incompetent partners.
I listened carefully.
And I waited.
When the bill finally arrived, it was nearly fifty thousand forints.
The waiter placed the leather folder elegantly on the edge of the table.
For a few seconds, complete silence filled the air.
Artúr looked at me.
And suddenly I panicked.
At least, I pretended to.
I dumped the entire contents of my bag onto the table.
Keys.
Makeup.
Papers.
Tissues.
But no wallet.
— Oh no… — I whispered.
— What happened? — he asked.
— I left my wallet in my other bag. And my phone is completely dead too.
The smile slowly disappeared from his face.
— What do you mean?
— Could you pay this time? I’ll transfer it as soon as I get home.
I used exactly the same words I had heard from him for months.
His face turned pale.
— But you invited me!
— I know. It’s just an unexpected situation.
— I don’t have that much money on me!
— Really? A successful businessman doesn’t have fifty thousand forints?
Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
He was clearly panicking.
And then something unbelievable happened.
His banking app worked.
He had his card with him.
And there was money in his account.
Within a few minutes, he angrily, red-faced, paid the full amount.
In that moment, I finally saw his true self. Not the successful businessman. Not the refined gentleman.
But a man who had become used to other people paying for his life.
When he finished, he stood up.
— Let’s go.
— No — I replied calmly. — I’ll take a taxi.
On the way home, I watched the city lights through the car window and felt a relief I hadn’t felt in a long time.
That very night, I blocked him everywhere.
And I never returned the money.
Anyone can call it revenge or pettiness.
I see it as settling a long-overdue account.
After all, over two months he owed me exactly that much.
Later he tried to contact me from fake profiles. He sent angry messages, wrote offended posts, and tried in every possible way to blame me.
But I could only smile.
Because I was finally free.
And although the lobster was indeed excellent, nothing tasted as good as the moment I finally freed myself from that man.
