Venmo Me for the Tampons: How My Ex's Penny-Pinching Cost Him Everything Chapter 1

My period cramps were so bad I couldn’t get out of bed, so I asked my boyfriend to run to the store for some tampons.

He turned around and posted a photo of me curled up in pain on his Instagram Story, meant for his "Close Friends" list.

“Bro, who understands this? GF makes me buy her tampons, I ask her to Venmo me the $10 back, and I’m the bad guy?”

The replies to his story were ruthless.

“She acting up again? I got your back, bro! Going Dutch is the only way. Don’t let these females walk all over you!”

“Why should you pay for her bleeding? She’s just using you for a free ride!”

Keeping our relationship "50/50" was his idea—to keep things "pure," he claimed.

For the past year we’d been dating, everything from expensive dinners to a single bottle of water was split down to the exact decimal point on Venmo.

Except, it was always on his terms.

Clearly, this wasn’t the first time he’d posted something like this. He just forgot to hide it from me this time.

Looking at those disgusting comments, a lump formed in my throat.

So, we’re strictly going Dutch, huh?

Fine. Two can play that game.

* * *

My fingers trembled as I refreshed his page, trying to convince myself that maybe Brandon was just trolling.

But the more I scrolled through the replies, the colder my heart got. Line by line, it was nothing but a mockery of me.

“Bro is speaking facts! 50/50 or nothing!”

“I’d ask for the money back too. Why should guys be walking ATMs?”

“She’s seriously crying over $10? And she made you play delivery boy?”

I clicked his profile picture again and again. Three times. Five times. There was no mistake. It was Brandon, the man I’d been with for a year.

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. Over a ten-dollar box of tampons, I had become a "gold digger" in the eyes of his frat-bro friends. And Brandon? He was the poor, victimized boyfriend.

Refusing to let it go, I logged into my burner account. Since it wasn't blocked from his main feed, I could see everything.

A sickeningly detailed "Dating Ledger" was plastered all over his highlights. Every post felt like a slap in the face.

There was a post from the day I got my bonus and treated him to a $300-a-head steakhouse. He posted a picture of the Starbucks coffee he bought me the next day with the caption: “Equality in relationships. The perfect 50/50.”

There was my birthday, when he took me to the pier to watch the fireworks. He took gorgeous photos of me, raking in comments about how "romantic" he was. He conveniently left out that the limited-edition sneakers I bought him that morning cost $800.

Everything I gave Brandon was carefully chosen and expensive. What he gave me was always "sentimental" garbage—a cheap keychain from a carnival game, or a buy-one-get-one-free phone case from Temu.

Just yesterday, he used a coupon to get a $3 pack of paper towels for free, then Venmo requested me for $1.50. I had brushed it off, thinking he was just overly meticulous about finances.

Now that I thought about it, whenever the first of the month rolled around to pay rent and utilities for our shared apartment, his banking app conveniently "crashed," leaving me to quietly cover the whole thing.

I’d never held it against him. I genuinely thought he was just a frugal guy saving for our future.

Clutching my phone, a chill washed over me. I couldn’t tell if it was the period cramps or the sickening realization of the truth.

One comment under his post made my blood run cold.

“Brandon is taking the crown for the 'Zero-Dollar Dating Challenge' this year! That $5k prize pool is yours, man. You gotta treat the boys to drinks!”

Brandon’s reply: “Don’t worry, once her cramps are gone, I’ll make her pay for dinner. I’ll treat her to a $10 Chipotle bowl later. Massive ROI on this one.”

My stomach violently turned.

I thought his strict 50/50 rule was about building an equal partnership. I didn't realize I was just a row on his Excel spreadsheet. What I thought was a two-way street was just him treating me like a low-risk, high-yield stock.

Money really is a mirror. It shows whether someone is afraid of not giving you enough, or afraid you’re asking for too much.

Trembling, I opened our text thread and typed out: Let’s break up.

But wait. Just breaking up? That was letting him off way too easy.

My thumb hovered over the send button, then I slowly backspaced.

Just as I deleted the last letter, the front door clicked open. Brandon strolled in, sipping a Coke, and tossed the box of tampons onto the coffee table.