To anyone reading this, I am writing due to grieving of loss and healing...
Online dating was never really ideal for me. I was always skeptical because of scammers and fake profiles, so even though I had created a profile, I wasn’t sure who—or what kind of man—I might meet. At the time, I was living in Boston, had a very successful career in the healthcare field, and had been single for quite a while.
On March 26, 2021, an unexpected message appeared on my phone, alerting me that I had received a message on the dating platform. Naturally, I was curious but remained cautious. The message was from a man named Andrew P Murray, who was 49 at the time—the same age as me—and lived in Florida. He is a Korean American, adopted by an American family, and also works in the healthcare field.
Despite my skepticism, I responded. We began exchanging messages through live chat, and the conversation continued for some time. He seemed friendly, though I remained wary. Andy mentioned that he would be visiting a friend the following day and would be in the Boston area. The next day, I texted him to wish him a safe flight. To my surprise, he replied, and we spontaneously decided to meet.
We met the day he arrived, and we immediately hit it off. We laughed and had a great time. He was funny and had an obnoxiously loud voice, but it didn’t bother me. His personality was vibrant—full of sarcasm and jokes—and most importantly, we connected. It felt like all the boxes were checked.
We went on to develop a long-distance relationship that lasted about a year and a half. Early in our relationship, we had a conversation about our past relationships and discussed sexually transmitted diseases—an important topic that needed to be addressed. During that discussion, Andy disclosed that he has STD.
I was completely shocked, confused, and speechless. My mind was swirling with disappointment that he had not disclosed this information from the outset. I felt deeply hurt because, by the time he told me, we had already become intimate, and I had not been given the opportunity to make an informed decision beforehand. I struggled to understand why he had not been honest with me earlier, and the sense of betrayal left me feeling devastated and confused.
I immediately went to get tested, and the results came back positive. In that moment, I knew it was too late and that I had been exposed. A red flag went off in my head. Deciding what to do, should I or shouldn't I continue with the relationship? Deep down, I resented him, but I loved him at the same time. I had given much thought and decided to continue the relationship because, in my mind, we both had it and were the same.
Despite this, Andy and I continued to grow very close. Although long distance was not ideal, we agreed that the next step would be either for my daughter and I to move to Florida, or for Andy to move back to Massachusetts, since he was originally from the North Shore area. Eventually, he found a job in Massachusetts and moved into an apartment in Watertown (west) of Boston, where he lived for about a year.
Summer of July 2023, my daughter and I moved in with him. It was an exciting time, as we were hopeful and looking forward to getting to know each other better and continuing to grow as a family.
The following year, in 2024, we had a major argument at home. During the argument, I told Andy that I needed space to calm down and went into the bathroom, sobbing. He followed me, and when I tried to close the door, he would not allow it. With one forceful push by Andy, I fell backward. My head struck the side of the sink, and I injured my left shoulder. The impact knocked the wind out of me.
I was in shock—terrified and in complete disbelief that this had happened, or rather, that he had done this. He tried to pick me up off the floor, but I would not allow him to touch me. I was frightened and ran upstairs to the bedroom to get away from him.
This entire incident unfolded in front of my daughter, who was 14 years old at the time. She was terrified and in shock as well. She begged me to leave Andy, telling me she felt he was dangerous and that she did not feel safe. I tried to reassure her, telling her that he was just upset and not to worry.
Throughout our relationship, I often felt that Andy was never fully satisfied or fulfilled in his life, though I couldn’t quite understand why. Over time, he became increasingly restless, especially at night, and struggled with anxiety. He had always been a night owl, but his sleep schedule grew later and later, which left him exhausted and restless during the day.
As his anxiety increased, he began to change. He was no longer the fun-loving Andy I had first met. Yes, we fought frequently—over both small and major issues. At the same time, I was going through a very tumultuous period of my own, dealing with peri-menopause. I felt isolated and, in many ways, in denial about what was happening in my life. My emotions intensified, my temper shortened, and I became extremely sensitive. With so many things happening at once, I slowly lost my sense of self.
There was a life before I met Andy. I had been confident, passionate about my career, deeply invested in being a mother, and surrounded by a wonderful group of friends. Yet during this time, I felt empty. I no longer felt loved by Andy, but despite that, I tried hard to make the relationship work.
Eventually, I realized that Andy was unhappy with his job in Florida, and later unhappy again with his job in Westborough, Massachusetts. He decided to seek new employment and eventually landed a third job working from home that also led to him feeling lost and unhappy. Looking back, a clear pattern emerged. Within the four years we were together, Andy changed jobs three times, and each position left him feeling dissatisfied and unfulfilled.
During this time, he became obsessively focused on day trading instead of prioritizing his job responsibilities. He spent most of the day trading, which resulted in him working late into the night. Andy was bored and once again unsatisfied with his current job. He admitted to me that he felt lost. I felt deeply sorry for him, and as his partner, I wanted to rescue him. I reassured him that we would be okay and even told him that I could financially support us if he chose to quit his job or seek another or job if it came down to it. That is how much I loved him. I was willing to support which ever direction he to follow.
I didn’t want to see him struggling, so I tried to be as supportive as possible. Looking back, I now recognize that I ignored many red flags because I desperately wanted the relationship to work. Instead, my attempts to support him made him feel emasculated, and he began to resent me. We started to drift apart, and arguments became frequent—almost every other day. Resentment grew on both sides, eventually leading to a second incident in which he pushed me into a closet and locked me inside. He held the door shut and would not let me out.
Once again, this incident unfolded in front of my daughter, who watched in fear from the doorway of her bedroom.
Andy’s impatience toward me grew, his remarks became increasingly snippy, and his temper flared more often, revealing a pronounced aggressive side. He seemed checked out, lost, and deeply depressed. Yet his passion for mountain biking never wavered; he frequently traveled to Vermont and various locations across Massachusetts. This hobby had always been a consistent part of his life.
On October 14, 2025, he chose to end the relationship. I was understandably devastated, confused, and deeply hurt. Within that same week, I found a bottle of lubricant in his travel bag, which confirmed that he had been unfaithful. This discovery shed light on his frequent mountain biking trips, despite his explanations. The betrayal compounded the pain of the breakup.
In hindsight, his infidelity was not surprising—he had been unfaithful in his previous marriage as well. Andy was unhappy and unfulfilled, and once again chose to cheat rather than take responsibility. The moment I learned the truth, all trust was irreparably broken. I made the decision to ask him to leave and move out immediately. I ended it on my terms, and I did so without hesitation.
While we were still living under the same roof, the situation was extremely difficult for me. The second bathroom belonged to my daughter, so I asked her to switch with Andy—he used her bathroom, and she used mine. Andy slept in the third bedroom.
During this transition, I said things out of anger and pain. I was deeply hurt and emotionally overwhelmed, replaying conversations and events repeatedly as I tried to make sense of what had happened.
Throughout our four years together, I carried the majority of the household responsibilities, including grocery shopping, laundry, and maintaining the home. We had cleaning services twice a month, and I ensured the household was always fully stocked. He never had to carry the mental or emotional load of running a home. For that reason, I do not understand his claim of being “unfulfilled.”
Andy admitted to my daughter that he had been dishonest and had exposed me to an STD. His words remain unforgettable: “Yes, I lied about it, but don’t worry—she will not die from it.” By saying this, he attempted to justify his behavior simply because it was not fatal. That statement alone revealed his true character—callous, unempathetic, and profoundly selfish.
On October 26, 2025, he returned from Vermont and told me he had found a place and would be moving out on November 1, 2025. While he was packing, an argument escalated. As I stood behind him, he turned abruptly and forcefully knocked me to the floor with his body, then proceeded to confine me inside the bathroom by holding the door shut.
I yelled and screamed to be let out. My daughter, who was downstairs, heard the disturbance and came upstairs. Only then did he release the door. She observed that his fists were clenched and feared he was about to hurt me. The bruises on my body were impossible to hide, as was the shock and horror reflected in my daughter’s face.
Evening of October 31, 2025 I returned home, I saw that Andy had removed all of his toiletries from the second bathroom, leaving only a bag of trash behind. I placed the bag outside his bedroom door and asked my daughter to move her toiletries back into her bathroom.
Andy came out of his bedroom and stated that he was not finished using the second bathroom. I told him it was no longer available to him, that my daughter had already moved her belongings back, and that he could not use it. I reminded him that he still had access to the half bathroom on the main floor.
He became upset and said that if he could not use the second bathroom, he would use mine.
He then stormed into my bathroom. I followed him and told him to leave, but he refused. He used his arm and elbow to repeatedly shove me away from the doorway, striking my jaw in the process. He then forced the door shut while I was pinned between the door and the doorframe, causing significant pain. Despite my yelling, pleading for him to stop, and telling him he was hurting me, he continued to apply force to the door.
My daughter heard the disturbance and ran over. She begged him to stop, telling him to use her bathroom and to stop hurting me. He responded, “No, and I don’t care.” I then warned him that if he did not stop, I would call the police. He replied, “Do it,” apparently believing I was bluffing. At that point, I had reached my limit and called the police.
Two police officers arrived and separated us to speak with each of us individually. My daughter was visibly distraught, crying and frightened, and begged me to tell the officers about every incident in which he had assaulted me. One of the officers asked whether this had been “an argument that got out of control” or “something else.”
In that moment, the weight of the situation became unmistakably clear. I understood that my response would determine what happened next. If I stated that he had assaulted me, he could be arrested, lose his job, and face serious consequences. I wanted to say, “Yes, he assaulted me,” because that was the truth.
I did not say it. I am not entirely certain why—perhaps because I knew he was scheduled to move out on November 1, 2025. Instead, I answered, “An argument that got out of control.”
The officer expressed concern for my safety and advised that I could consider requesting a restraining order as a precaution—for both my sake and my daughter’s. The words “for your daughter’s sake” stayed with me. In that moment, I felt the weight of responsibility and the pain of realizing how deeply this situation had affected her.
Andy was instructed that he was not permitted to remain in the house. He left that night, stripped of dignity, carrying only a pillow, a blanket, and a few clothes.
That night, I could not sleep. I kept replaying the nightmare my daughter and I had just endured.
I want to be clear: I am not claiming Andy was solely at fault, and I acknowledge my own actions. I take responsibility for how I responded in moments of conflict. However, I have come to understand an essential truth—I did not cause him to hurt me. He chose to lose control. That aggression existed within him long before that night, hidden until it surfaced and manifested in physical violence against me.
I regret not leaving the moment he lied about having an STD and knowingly exposed me to it. That act alone could be considered criminal, and it has had lasting physical, emotional, and psychological consequences. In hindsight, that was a defining warning sign—one I should never have been asked to endure.
He is gone now, but the scars of his actions remain. One night, in a fit of uncontrolled rage, he slammed his head against the wall. I feared for my life—I believed he intended to seriously harm me, perhaps even kill me. That moment crystallized the danger I had been living with and the violent potential he carried within him.
I am slowly trying to heal from all of this, learning from my past mistakes, and rebuilding my sense of safety and self.
I didn’t realize at the time that I was unintentionally emasculating Andy. I believed that being supportive and understanding partner would help ease the pressure and anxiety he felt—stemming from his unhappiness with himself, him feeling like a failure, dissatisfaction with his job, his relationship with his daughter, and his financial situation. At his age he should’ve already established a stable career. I didn’t know that my support would instead lead him to resent me, contributing to his bad behavior and ultimately the physical assaults. He presented his love when it was convenient for him. There's a very important point that many people don't recognize until it they experience this themselves. Andy could look like a loving person when he is getting his needs met, when he's happy, but, who is he when he's not getting his needs met anymore. Who is he when it's inconvenient. When Andy love it's about himself. He's fighting himself because he was unhappy about himself and I happen to be the closet person that he can mistreat and eliminate. He didn't love the way I love. When I love I care for someone. When he loves it's about himself. There is a huge difference.
I want to be very clear: I did not deserve the physical assaults I endured, and neither did my daughter. I didn’t realize at the time that my attempts to support Andy may have unintentionally contributed to his resentment, but his behavior—losing control, physically assaulting me, and putting my daughter in fear—was entirely his responsibility. Every now and then flashbacks of a dark closet triggers me.
For anyone reading this, please know that physical assault is never acceptable. Intentionally lying about one’s health and exposing another person to a disease is a serious offense and can be considered a crime.
I am slowly working to heal from these experiences, learning from my past, and reclaiming my sense of safety, confidence, and self-worth.