Rich Dad Recovered: My "Broke" Girlfriend Regrets Everything

But within moments, fury swept across Iris' face.

"Jas, are you like everyone else now? Do you think I'm worthless too, that I'll never amount to anything?

"I knew it. I was wrong about you!"

She stormed out and slammed the door behind her. I watched her leave and understood exactly what she was doing. She wanted to force me into giving in.

But I didn't call after her. Instead, I pulled out my phone and blocked every way she had to contact me.

Then I picked up the IOU. There was no borrower listed, no debtor's fingerprint either. The thing was obviously fake, yet I'd fallen for it twice.

I laughed bitterly at myself and dialed the rental agent. "Hello, I need you to help me sublease the flower shop on Central Street."

I'd only opened the shop to support Iris in the first place. Now that I was done with her, there was no point keeping it running.

Besides, I was leaving anyway.

…

The next morning, I stayed home packing.

Looking around the cramped, dingy rental, I realized there wasn't much worth taking with me. There were birthday cards thrown out by a bakery, pretty rocks she'd picked up off the street, and a ring she'd twisted from paper scraps.

Iris had given me these things as surprises, but every time I opened one of her mystery gifts, she looked just as surprised as I did. In hindsight, the so-called presents were probably just random items she'd had someone gather up without even checking what they were.

The only decent gift she'd ever given me was a watch she'd bought from a street vendor for 80 dollars after her first business succeeded. I'd thought she was being wasteful and gotten upset with her over it.

But Iris just looked at me like I was amusing. She called me foolish and asked what would happen if she actually got rich someday and I still refused to spend money.

Back then, I thought she was worried about me. Now I realized she genuinely thought I was stupid.

Scrolling through the endless chat logs, I'd counted 517 times Iris called me stupid.

When I ran across three blocks to buy her favorite late-night snacks, she wrote about how stupid I was. When she had a fever and I gave her my only raincoat before carrying her to the hospital on my back, she said I was ridiculously stupid.

Even when I held her close and talked about our future together, she had to post in the group chat about it.

"Jasper is hopelessly stupid. He's this broke and still fantasizing about a future with me."

Even in plain text, I could hear the contempt and mockery behind those words. But it didn't matter anymore.

Iris Fulton wouldn't be part of my future from now on.

I kept packing, but when I finished, the large suitcase was still empty. The trash can, however, was full.

I took another look at the place I'd called home for two years. The wallpaper was peeling and stained with water damage. One of the chairs was missing a leg. The bed was just bricks and wooden planks stacked together.

When things were going better, I'd thought about fixing the place up properly. But Iris always refused. She said once we had money, we wouldn't live here anymore, so decorating would be pointless.

I'd believed every promise she made and stayed in this rundown place, stupidly waiting for them to come true. Thinking about it all made me feel hollow.

The agent called just as I was closing the suitcase.

"Mr. Kirk, I can't make decisions about subleasing the flower shop on my own. You'll need to negotiate with the landlord directly."

I arrived at the office building at 3:00 pm to meet the agent. Through a door left slightly ajar in the luxurious hallway, I caught sight of Iris.

She wore a beautiful dress and had her head lowered, fiddling with her phone. A man in an expensive suit stood beside her with his arm wrapped intimately around her waist.

I recognized him the moment I saw him.

Two days ago, the shop received an order for 999 roses. The customer specifically requested that we leave the thorns on, so I'd finished the entire arrangement with my hands covered in bloody welts.

When I'd taken a cab to deliver them personally, the recipient was this man, Lincoln Freeman.

A small card sat at the center of the bouquet, exactly as the customer had requested.

"To the love of my life, Lincoln. Signed, IF."

Only now did it hit me. "IF" stood for Iris Fulton.