The betrayal was his choice, but my strength to move forward is mine. That’s what I tell myself every time the pain creeps back in. I didn’t choose to have my world shattered—I didn’t ask for the lies, the late-night phone calls I wasn’t supposed to hear, or the hollow explanations. That choice was his, and while it broke something inside me, it didn’t break me.

At first, I thought it might. When I discovered the truth, it felt like the ground beneath my feet had disappeared. How could someone I trusted so deeply, someone I built my life with, make a choice so selfish and destructive? I asked myself over and over if it was my fault. Did I miss the signs? Was I not enough? But in time, I realized something: his actions weren’t a reflection of my worth. They were a reflection of his character.

Walking away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not just because of the love I thought I’d lost, but because of everything else—my dreams of growing old together, my plans for our family, and the life I thought was ours. Letting go meant starting over from scratch, but it also meant reclaiming my power.

I made a choice, too. A choice to let his betrayal be a chapter in my story, not the ending. I chose to rise above the hurt and rebuild a life where my happiness wasn’t tied to someone else’s actions.

I won’t lie and say it’s been easy. Healing is messy, and sometimes the anger resurfaces. But every step I take reminds me that I’m stronger than I ever realized. His betrayal was his decision, but my strength to move forward? That’s mine—and that’s something no one can take away.