Tracked by My Ex

My boyfriend was an incurable gatekeeper. He didn't just ward off other men—he guarded me against other women with the same ferocious, suffocating possessiveness.

If my best friend, Nia, and I walked to the neighborhood café for thirty minutes, my phone would light up with dozens of missed calls.

"Don't sip from her iced latte," he’d bark into the receiver. "And don't let her lean in and kiss your cheek."

When Nia playfully peeled the shell off a grilled shrimp and dropped it onto my plate during a backyard dinner, he would snatch it with his fork, chew it down with an arched brow, and…