I thought I knew love. I thought I was building something real.
We had been together for over eight months. We lived together. I shared my life with him, my home, my trust, my heart. I believed in us.
I don’t really use Facebook, except maybe once during a festive season. That year, he decided to travel home for the holidays — as he often does — and I stayed behind, trusting him as always.
A few days later, my phone buzzed. A friend had sent me something. Something I never imagined I would see.
It was pictures. His traditional marriage… with another woman.
A huge celebration. Smiles. Rings. Families. The kind of occasion I thought we were planning together.
I froze. I couldn’t breathe. My stomach twisted, my chest ached. Every memory, every shared laugh, every promise we had whispered suddenly felt like a lie.
He was planning a wedding — a life — right under my nose.
While I was loving him, trusting him, and building a home with him, he was pretending, deceiving, and moving on without me.
I felt invisible. Small. Betrayed. Foolish. Heartbroken in ways I didn’t know were possible.
I stayed silent, because how do you even speak about this without sounding… broken? How do you explain that the person you gave your heart to was building another life while you were still living it with them?
All I could do was stare at the pictures, cry quietly, and wonder how someone could be so cruel.
And yet… somewhere deep down, a tiny spark whispered:
This isn’t your life. You will survive. You will heal. And one day, you will love yourself enough to never let this happen again.