She Mocked Me In Front Of Her Family 'He Still Thinks He's Going To Make It As

She mocked me in front of her family. He still thinks he's going to make it as a musician. I smiled. Maybe one day. That night, I sold the rights to a song I wrote about her for six figures. She found out when it played on the radio. Original post. I, 31, male, have been with Veronica 29, for 4 years.

We met when I was playing a small gig at a local bar. She said she loved that I was passionate about music. Back then, she'd sit front row at every show, telling everyone her boyfriend was going to be famous someday. That was before reality set in for her. See, I work construction during the day.

Good, honest work that pays the bills. Music happens nights and weekends. I've been grinding for years, writing, recording in my buddy's home studio, playing wherever they'll have me. Made maybe $8,000 from music last year. Not quitting my day job numbers, but I was building something. Veronica's tolerance for my hobby.

Started wearing thin about two years ago. The eye rolls when I mentioned a new song. The size when I had a gig. The can't you just watch TV like a normal person comments. Last month was her sister Natalie's engagement party. Big fancy affair at her parents' country club. I'm there in my only suit trying to make small talk with her dad's golf buddies.

Her uncle Richard few drinks in, asks what I do. Before I can answer, Veronica jumps in. He works construction, she says, then adds with this little laugh. He still thinks he's going to make it as a musician. The whole table goes quiet for a second. Her mom, Patricia, smirks. Her dad, Harold, shakes his head. Her sister's fiance, investment banker type, actually snorts.

How old are you again? Richard asks. 31, I say. Bit old for Rockstar Dreams. No, he's not even trying to hide the condescension. Veronica piles on. I keep telling him, but he insists on wasting money on studio time last month. He spent $400 recording some song about what was it, honey? Lost love or something equally original. Everyone laughs.

She's describing the song I wrote about her, about us when things were good. Maybe one day, I said quietly, forcing a smile. That's what he always says, Veronica announces to the table. Maybe one day. Meanwhile, I'm the one planning our actual future while he plays make believe. Her mom chimes in. Veronica's so patient as most women wouldn't put up with it.

I excused myself to the bathroom, sat in a stall for 5 minutes, just breathing. See, what Veronica didn't know, what I hadn't told her yet, was that two weeks earlier, a music supervisor had reached out about one of my songs. The one about her, actually. They wanted it for a new Netflix series. The offer was sitting in my email unsigned.

I'd been waiting for the right moment to tell her. Guess I found it. That night after we got home and she passed out. Wine hits different when you're busy humiliating your boyfriend. I open my laptop, read the contract one more time. $125,000 for full rights plus residuals. The song I wrote about the woman I loved who just spent the evening treating me like a punchline.

I signed it, sent it back at 2:47 a.m. Then I opened a new bank account, just mine. Update one. It's been 3 weeks since the engagement party. The check cleared 2 days ago, $87,500 after taxes and fees. Still haven't told Veronica. But something interesting happened yesterday. We're at dinner. Her choice, this overpriced place downtown.

She's going on about her friend Madison's boyfriend. He just bought her a Tesla. Can you imagine? Must be nice dating someone with actual ambition. I'm cutting my stake staying quiet. I mean, Madison doesn't have to worry about her boyfriend playing dress up rockstar at his age. That's nice for Madison, I say.

She sighed dramatically. I just feel like I'm the only one thinking about our future. Do you know how embarrassing it was at Natalie's party? Everyone else talking about promotions and investments. And I have to explain my boyfriend's still chasing team teenage dreams. I work full-time in construction. Make decent money.

That's not a career. That's a job. And the music thing. Honestly, it's getting pathetic. Pathetic. I repeat, don't be sensitive. I'm trying to help you see reality. You're not 20 anymore. It's time to grow up. Our server chooses that moment to appear. Can I get you anything else? Just the check, I say. Veronica orders dessert.

While she's eating her $18 chocolate, whatever, her phone buzzes. Natalie. Oh my god. Veronica squeals. Natalie just heard this amazing new song on her Netflix show. She's obsessed. My stomach drops. No way. She's reading texts. She says it's called When You Knew Me. That's such a basic title, but apparently it's beautiful.

The show's music supervisor is calling it the Find of the Year. I take a sip of water. God, see, this is what real musicians do. They get their music on actual shows, not play open mics at dive bars. Maybe the artist played dive bars, too. I suggest before making it. She rolls her eyes. Please, whoever wrote this probably went to Giuliard or something.

Real training, real talent. The song she's praising. I wrote it on our second anniversary. It's about the night she told me she loved me for the first time. Every word was about her. Anyway, she continues, "This is what I mean. Either you have it or you don't. And baby, she reaches over, pats my hand condescendingly.

You tried, that's what matters. I pay the check. Leave a 30% tip because our server doesn't deserve to deal with Veronica's energy for standard 20%. In the car, she connects her phone to Bluetooth. Let me play you this song. Maybe you'll learn something. My voice fills the car, my guitar, my words about her. Isn't it incredible? She sigh.

The emotion, the authenticity. Yeah, I say. Incredible. Update two. The Netflix show premiered last Friday. When You Knew Me plays during the main couple's first kiss, it's already trending on Tik Tok. I still haven't told Veronica, but Saturday morning things got interesting. I'm making coffee when she storms into the kitchen. Phone in hand.

This is unbelievable. The song from the show, some nobody wrote it. Not even a real musician. Oh, Natalie did some digging. The artist is credited as J Morrison. Probably a fake name. No social media, no other songs, nothing. It's probably some industry plant. Jay Morrison. My first initial, my middle name. Maybe they want privacy. I suggest privacy.

She laughs. Who writes a song that good and wants privacy? It's suspicious. Probably some rich kid whose daddy bought them a music career. Her phone rings. Patricia. Hi, Mom. Yeah, I saw. No, nobody knows who it is. I know, right? That's what I said. She walks into the living room, but I can still hear her. At least someone our age is making something of themselves, unlike some people.

No, he's still doing the construction thing. The music, please. Last week, he played a bar with 12 people there. 12. Mom. I pull out my phone. The bank app shows my balance. More money than I've ever had from one song. One song she inspired that she loves that she has no idea came from the man she's mocking that night. She's on her laptop scrolling through music blogs.

Look, they're saying Jay Morrison got six figures for the song rights. Six figures for one song. Good for them, I say. Meanwhile, you spent all last month working on that demo nobody will ever hear. Actually, about that. Oh god, please don't tell me you're planning another vanity project. How much did you waste on studio time this month? None really. She looks skeptical.

Finally coming to your senses. Something like that. She comes over, sits on my lap. First affection she's shown in weeks. Baby, I know I'm hard on you sometimes, but it's because I care. I just want us to have a real future. Maybe it's time to think about next steps. Natalie's wedding is making me think about ours.

Ours? Well, eventually once you get more stable, maybe get into management at the construction company and obviously after you give up the music thing completely, obviously. I mean, can you imagine if Natalie knew you were still playing those sad little gigs? She already thinks it's weird you're not more established at your age. What do you think? She sigh.

I think I've been very patient. Most women wouldn't wait around while their boyfriend plays pretend. You're right. I say you've been patient. She smiles, kisses me. See, you can be reasonable when you try. That night, while she's asleep, I look at apartments online. One bedrooms just for me. Update 3. Monday morning. Everything changed.

I'm at work laying foundation when my phone starts blowing up. Text from numbers I don't recognize. My buddy Tony comes running over. Dude, dude, you're on the radio. What? He's got his phone out streaming the local station. The DJ's voice booms and that was When You Knew Me by Jay Morrison, the mystery artist taking the world by storm.

This song has blown up so fast even we don't know who this person is. If you're out there, J Morrison, call us. The people want to know. My phone rings. Veronica. I let it go to voicemail. Then it rings again and again. Text from Veronica. Call me now. Another. The song on the radio. Another J Morrison. Jake Morrison. I turn my phone off. finish my shift.

Drive home the long way. When I finally get there, Veronica's car is in the driveway, Natalie's, too, and Patricia's. Deep breath. I walk in. They're all in the living room. Veronica's been crying. Mascara streaks down her face. Patricia looks like she's been slapped. Natalie's on her phone, probably googling. Is it true? Veronica's voice is tiny.

Is what true? Don't. She stands up. Jay Morrison. Jake Morrison. The song. It's about me, isn't it? the night at the pier when I said, "Oh my god, it's about me." Yeah. I say, "It's about you. You sold it for six figures and didn't tell me." Technically $125,000, but yeah. Patricia stands up. "You had $125,000 and didn't tell my daughter.

That's financial deception. We're not married. We don't share finances. My money, my business." Natalie looks up from her phone. It says here, "The song's already been streamed 4 million times. The residuals alone. Residuals. Veronica's voice cracks. There's more money. Probably. Depends on how long it stays popular.

How could you not tell me we're partners? Are we? Because at your sister's party, you introduced me as your boyfriend who still thinks he's going to make it as a musician. Remember? She goes pale. You said I was pathetic, that I was playing make believe, that you were embarrassed of me. I was trying to motivate you by humiliating me in front of your entire family. Patricia interjects.

She was being realistic. Nobody makes it in music. I just did. Silence. Natalie breaks it. So, you're rich now? I'm comfortable and single. What? Veronica screams. You can't break oath me. I supported you. You mocked me publicly repeatedly. I loved you. You love the idea of fixing me, of turning me into someone else. She's fullon sobbing now.

The song is about me. I deserve half that money. I actually laugh. What? Patricia steps forward. She's right. That song is about Veronica, her story, her moment. You profited off her. I profited off my own talent. Writing about my own experience. We'll sue. Patricia threatens. For what? Writing a song about my own relationship.

Good luck with that. Natalie, ever practical. Mom, he's right. There's no legal claim here. Veronica turns on her sister. You're taking his side. I'm not taking sides. I'm being realistic. Get out. Veronica screams at me. Get out of my house. Your house? I pay half the rent. I'm on the lease.

I'll call the cops and tell them what? Your boyfriend sold a song and you're mad about it. She collapses on the couch, defeated. Then quieter. Where will I go? That's not my problem anymore. Patricia gasps. You're kicking her out? No, I'm leaving. Lisa's up in 2 months. she can figure out if she wants to stay or go.

I head to the bedroom, start packing. Veronica follows. Please, Jake. Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things. Yeah, you did. I was embarrassed. My family kept asking when you'd grow up, and instead of defending me, you joined them. I'll change. I'll support your music. Now you'll support it when it's profitable. She grabs my arm.

We can use the money for a wedding, our future. I pull away. There is no hour anymore. You wrote that song about me, about us. You loved me. I did. Past tense. That song is about who you were, who I thought you were before you showed me who you really are. I zip up my bag. This is cruel. She whispers. You're being cruel. No.

Cruel was letting your family laugh at me. Cruel was calling my dreams pathetic. Cruel was being ashamed of who I am. I leave. Check into a hotel. Turn my phone off again. Update 4. It's been 5 days since I left. I turned my phone back on this morning. 89 texts from Veronica. 31 missed calls, 14 voicemails, selected highlights. You're a liar and a fake.

Using me for your stupid song. Please come back. We can work this out. I'm keeping all the furniture. I love you. I've always loved you. My lawyer says I have a case. I'm sorry. Please just talk to me. You owe me. Four years together. Also, 23 texts from Patricia, ranging from threats to negotiations to offering me her blessing to marry Veronica if I come back, but the interesting ones were from Natalie.

Jake, I'm sorry about everything. For what it's worth, I always liked your music. Veronica's having a meltdown. She called into work sick all week. Mom's enabling her saying, "You're the villain." But honestly, she brought this on herself. Congrats on the song. It really is beautiful. And then yesterday, heads up, Veronica's been posting on social media.

It's not good. I checked Instagram. Veronica's public account, usually full of selfies and brunch pics, now has a series of posts. When someone you loved and trusted, betrays you for money. Four years of supporting someone's dreams just to be thrown away when they make it.

He wrote a song about me and didn't even tell me it was being sold. Now he's acting like the victim. The comments are mixed. Some friends rallying to her side, but others not so much. One comment stands out from someone named Derek. Didn't you mock him for being a musician at Nat's party? Multiple people heard you. Veronica's response.

That was taken out of context. You literally called him pathetic. I was there. She deleted Dererick's comments, but screenshots were already circulating. Then this morning, a new development. Email from Netflix's music supervisor. Mr. Morrison, congratulations on the success of When You Knew Me. We're interested in featuring more of your work.

Do you have other songs available? We're particularly interested in exclusive rights to your catalog for our upcoming series. Budget is substantial. Please contact us at your earliest convenience. Substantial budget for my catalog. The catalog Veronica said was worthless. I'm meeting with them tomorrow in person. They're flying me out to LA, but first I need to handle the apartment situation.

I text Veronica. I'll come by tomorrow at 2 p.m. to get my equipment and remaining clothes. Please don't be there. Her response is immediate. We need to talk. Please, just give me 5 minutes. No, you can't just end 4 years without a conversation. Watch me. I'll be there when you come. You can't avoid me forever. Then I'll bring witnesses.

Witnesses for what? to ensure you don't make false accusations or try to claim I took anything that isn't mine. I would never like you'd never mock me publicly. Like you'd never call my music pathetic. No response to that. Update five. Went to get my stuff today. Brought Tony and my cousin Miguel as witnesses.

Good thing, too. Veronica was there, but she wasn't alone. Patricia was with her and some guy in a cheap suit. This is my lawyer, Veronica announced as we walked in. Mr. Garrett? The lawyer looked about 25 and nervous as hell. Pretty sure he was some parallegal Patricia knew. My client believes she's entitled to compensation.

He started reading from a notepad for emotional distress and uh creative contribution to the song in question. Miguel, who actually is a lawyer, laughed. Creative contribution? Did she write any lyrics, compose any melody, play any instruments? She inspired it. The kid stammered. Inspiration isn't ownership. Miguel said, "Every song ever written was inspired by something or someone.

You have no case." Patricia stepped forward. "This is about morality, not legality. He used my daughter." "Your daughter used me as a punchline," I said, starting to pack my recording equipment. "For years." "I supported you," Veronica cried emotionally. "That has value." "You're right." I said, "It does.

" About $0, which is what you contributed financially to my music career. I came to your shows when you haven't been to a single gig in the past year. I was busy, but not too busy to mock me at every opportunity. Tony and Miguel helped me load my guitars, interface, microphones, all the gear I'd bought with my construction money, while Veronica called it wasting money on toys.

As I was packing the last box, Veronica pulled out her phone. If you leave, I'm posting this. She showed me a video. It was her crying with the song playing in the background. My ex-boyfriend wrote this song about me, sold it for six figures, and left me with nothing. I supported him for 4 years, believed in his dream when no one else did, and this is how he repays me.

Please share this so everyone knows what kind of person Jake Morrison really is. Post it, I said. What? Post it. Tell the world. In fact, mention that I'm Jay Morrison. Give me the publicity. She blinked, confused. You think this makes you look good? I continued, crying over money you're not entitled to for a song about a relationship you disrespected.

People will take my side. Some will. The ones who think being in proximity to success entitles them to a piece of it, but anyone with sense will see the truth. Patricia grabbed the phone. We'll ruin you. Miguel stepped in. Actually, if you post defamatory content about my client, we'll pursue legal action.

And unlike your parillegal here, I actually know what I'm doing. The fake lawyer went even paler. I grabbed the last box. Post whatever you want. I've got a flight to catch. Flight? Veronica's voice went up an octave. Where are you going? LA meeting with Netflix. They want more of my music. Her face crumbled.

More? How much more? All of it. Every song I've written. The songs you played for me. The ones I said weren't good enough. Those exact ones. She lunged forward, grabbing my arm. Please, Jake. Please. I was wrong. I see that now. Your music is amazing. I always knew it. No, you didn't. I was scared. Scared of being poor, of struggling.

My family put so much pressure on me. And you folded every time. I'll stand up to them now. I'll tell them they were wrong. Too late. Patricia tried one last time. You're making a mistake. Veronica loved you. She stayed with you when you had nothing. I had something. I had talent, passion, and drive. She just couldn't see it until it came with a price tag.

We left. Veronica was sobbing. Patricia was threatening to call every media outlet she could think of. The parallegal was probably rethinking his career choices. In the car, Tony said, "Dude, that was brutal. That was 4 years overdue," I replied. Final update. It's been 3 months since I walked out of that apartment.

Time for one last update. The Netflix deal went through, not just for one series, but three. They bought exclusive rights to 15 of my songs for $1.2 million total. The news hit the trade publications last week. Mystery musician Jay Morrison signed 7 figure deal with Netflix. Veronica found out when everyone else did.

She tried to contact me through my manager. Yeah, I have one of those now. Left a message saying she wanted to apologize properly and discuss reconciliation. My manager, bless her, responded that Mr. Morrison is not accepting personal communications at this time. But the real kicker came yesterday. I was having coffee at a spot downtown when Natalie walked in.

She saw me, hesitated, then came over. Jake. Hi, Natalie. Can I sit just for a minute? I nodded. I wanted you to know Veronica's not doing well. That's not my I know. I know. Not your problem. I'm not here to guilt you. She brought this on herself. We all did. Really? How do you mean? She sighed. The family dynamic.

We always mocked anyone who didn't follow the traditional path. Doctor, lawyer, banker, anyone creative was seen as less than. Veronica absorbed that. She loved you in her way, but she was embarrassed because we made her feel like she should be. That's an explanation, not an excuse. I know. I'm not excusing it. Just context. She pulled out her phone, showed me Veronica's Instagram.

The follower count had dropped by half. The recent posts were all motivational quotes about betrayal and knowing your worth. She lost her job, Natalie said quietly. Kept calling in sick to stalk your social media. Spent all day trying to find proof you cheated or something. The song Royalty's News broke and she had a breakdown at work.

They had to let her go. I'm sorry to hear that. Are you? I thought about it. Yeah, I am. I didn't want her to suffer. I just wanted her to stop making me suffer. Natalie nodded. She's living with our parents now. Mom feeds her delusions. Says you'll come back once you get it out of your system. Dad's frustrated. Tells her to move on. It's tense.

Why are you telling me this? Because I owe you an apology, too. I laughed along at that party. I didn't mock you directly, but I didn't stop it either. And that wasn't right. Your music, it's beautiful. You deserved support, not ridicule. Thanks. She stood up. For what it's worth, I'm glad you made it. You proved us all wrong.

I didn't do it to prove anything to anyone. No, you did it for you. That's why it worked. She left. I sat there thinking about how different things could have been if Veronica had just believed. Not even in my success, just in my right to try. My phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number. I almost deleted it, then saw the preview.

Jake, this is Harold, Veronica's dad. I wanted to apologize. I deleted it. Some bridges aren't worth rebuilding. Later that night, I played a soldout show at the venue where Veronica and I first met. 500 people all there for my music. Music she said no one would ever care about. Before the last song, I said something to the crowd.

This next one is about learning the difference between someone who loves you and someone who loves the idea of what you could be for them. It's about choosing yourself when the person you love most chooses their comfort over your dreams. It's called When You Knew Me. And yeah, it's about exactly who you think it's about. The crowd went wild.

They all knew the story by now. Social media had done its thing. I played the song that started everything. The song about the night Veronica said she loved me. back when I believed her. Before I learned that love shouldn't come with conditions about who you're allowed to be. After the show, my manager showed me something on her phone.

Veronica had posted a video reaction to my concert footage that someone live streamed. He's playing our song like I mean nothing. Like our four years meant nothing. That stage, that success, that should have been our moment. Instead, he's turned me into a villain in his story. The woman who didn't believe in him, but I did believe. I just wanted security too.

Is that so wrong? The comments were brutal. Girl, you called him pathetic. The internet remembers. You believed in his failure, not his success. Security. You wanted a wallet, not a partner. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. One comment stood out from Derek again. I was at that engagement party.

You didn't just mock him. You laughed while your family tore him apart. You got exactly what you deserved. Nothing. I asked my manager to block her on all platforms. Not out of anger anymore, just exhaustion. It's done. It's been done. Tomorrow, I fly back to LA to work with a Grammyinning producer on my first full album. The construction job.

I gave notice last month. Not because I'm too good for it now, but because music is now paying me enough to focus on it full-time. The thing Veronica said would never happen. The apartment. I bought a house. Small, nothing fancy, but it has a room perfect for a home studio. A real one.

Professional treatment, proper gear, the works, the waste of money is now my office. As for dating, not yet. Trust issues are real, but my therapist says I'm making progress. Learning to separate Veronica's voice from my inner dialogue. To stop hearing pathetic every time I pick up my guitar. The last text I ever sent Veronica was three words.

Thanks for nothing. because that's what she gave me. Nothing but doubt, shame, and mockery. But from that nothing, I built everything. And she gets to watch it all from her parents' couch, knowing she had a front row seat to the dream and chose to laugh at it instead. The song still plays on the radio.

Every time it does, she has to hear my voice singing about when she loved me. Before she decided I wasn't enough, before she bet against me, she lost that bet. I won. That's all that matters