It’s only January 1st, the first day of the year, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve started it completely wrong. Angry, hurt, and lost in thought, I keep replaying the question in my mind: where did we go wrong? How did we go from being the couple everyone admired to the couple pulling each other apart piece by piece?
We just got married—or at least, that’s what it felt like. We flew across the world, stood in front of family and friends, and said our vows. The paperwork was supposed to come later, once we were back in Canada. But then, life happened. Lies happened. And just a week ago, the world I thought I knew came crashing down with one simple question—a question that only needed an honest answer. He could have told me the truth. Instead, he chose a lie, one I desperately wanted to believe.
Now, here I am, staring at a receipt for something he swore he didn’t pay for. I put it back where I found it, pretending I had a headache to avoid our New Year’s Eve plans. I didn’t want to ruin the night for everyone else. So, he went out with friends while I stayed behind, my mind racing.
Maybe it was entrapment, but I stayed silent. I asked him about it again, giving him another chance to be honest. He failed—again. This time, he even tried to hide the receipt from me, clinging to it like a secret he couldn’t bear to let go of. When I finally confronted him, his response chilled me:
“I was terrified you would be upset.”
Terrified? Why would anyone want to marry someone they’re *terrified* of, especially for just being honest?
Yes, we’re broke. Yes, I might have asked why he paid for something I had already covered. But if he had just told me the truth—if he’d said he’d already arranged for my refund—I would have understood. But he lied. And honestly, I don’t even believe he arranged the refund. He only brought it up during the fight, and a week later, he still hadn’t followed through.
Now, I sit here with my baby girl, the one reason I stayed the last time he lied. Back then, I was pregnant when his ex sent me screenshots of their conversations—him asking her out, admitting he wasn’t over her, all while we were together. I stayed because our daughter was on the way, because the messages were old, because I told myself a hundred reasons to forgive him.
But here I am again. And this time, I don’t know if I have the same reasons to stay. Everything inside me is telling me it’s time to walk away.
Where did it all go wrong? When did I lose the strong, independent person I used to be? How did I become the villain in my own story? Is there any way to come back from this? How can someone who says they love me continue to hurt me—and why do I keep accepting it as if it’s what I deserve? Do I even have the strength to keep fighting anymore? What does healing even look like? Is it a straight path forward, or is it the messy, unpredictable journey everyone warns about? Healing feels like an abstract promise, something I want to believe in but can’t quite reach. Do I start by forgiving myself, by forgiving them, or by simply walking away? Maybe healing isn’t about answers but about learning to live with the questions, finding strength in the uncertainty, and trusting that one day I’ll feel whole again.
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