I never thought I would be the woman sitting here, trying to process the unthinkable. Betrayal. Lies. The kind of heartbreak you only see in movies. And yet, here I am.

I found out about his affair completely by accident. A misplaced text message, a name I didn’t recognize, a thread of conversations that made my stomach turn. My hands shook as I scrolled through the messages—sweet nothings, inside jokes, plans to meet up. Every word felt like a knife to the chest. The man I trusted, the man I built a life with, had been sneaking around behind my back.

When I confronted him, I expected guilt. Regret. Maybe even an apology. But instead, he looked me right in the eye and did something I never saw coming.

He blamed me.

“You were too busy.”
“You never paid attention to me.”
“You made me feel like I wasn’t wanted.”

Excuse after excuse, like somehow his betrayal was a direct result of my supposed shortcomings. As if I had pushed him into another woman’s arms.

I was furious. Heartbroken. How dare he twist this around on me? I had been loyal. I had been there. I had loved him. And this was how he repaid me?

At that moment, something inside me snapped. I refused to let him rewrite the story to make himself the victim. I deserved better.

And for the first time in a long time, I realized—I wasn’t the one who should be apologizing.