I still can’t wrap my head around it. How did we get here? How did my once-loving marriage turn into this twisted, painful mess?

It all started when I noticed the change. The late nights at work, the sudden disappearances, the lack of communication. At first, I brushed it off—he was busy, things were stressful. But then, the signs became too obvious to ignore. A hidden phone, messages that didn’t make sense, and the constant feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

I confronted him. The truth hit me like a ton of bricks—he had been seeing someone else for months. My heart shattered, but the real shock came when he didn’t beg for forgiveness, didn’t even seem truly sorry. Instead, he blamed me.

“You were always so focused on your career.”
“You never made me feel special.”
“You stopped paying attention to me.”

I stood there, stunned, unable to process his words. How had I become the villain in my own marriage? He was the one who cheated, yet somehow, I was being blamed for his betrayal. He made it sound like I had forced him into the arms of another woman, like I was somehow responsible for his actions.

The audacity. The nerve.

I wanted to scream, to shake him and demand he take responsibility for what he had done. But instead, I sat there, in disbelief. How did we get here? How could he twist the narrative and make me feel like the one who had failed?

I realized, in that moment, that I wasn’t the one at fault. I had given everything to this relationship, and he had broken it. But somehow, he thought he could make me feel guilty.

Well, not anymore. I refused to let him rewrite the story. It was time to take control back.