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Why I Write (And No, It’s Not About You)
Let me be very clear for the inevitable day when she finds this blog—because let’s be honest, she will.She’s stalked me for thirteen years, obsessing over a life that doesn’t belong to her.So, for the record: I don’t write because she lives rent-free in my head.I write because this is how I exorcise the weight I’ve carried around for over a decade.It’s not about her. It’s about me.My healing.My story.My truth. He lied.Big lies.Twisted, self-serving lies meant to paint me as the villain, so he could justify chasing the easiest piece of ass he could find. And isn’t that how it always goes?The man says he’s “unhappy,” that his wife…
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When They Made Me the Villain to Justify Their Affair
Because rewriting my character was easier than owning their betrayal. Let me tell you something about people who cheat and the ones who help them do it:They don’t want the truth.They want a story. And in order to live inside that story without choking on their guilt, they need a villain.That’s where I came in. I was the wife.The mother.The one holding our home together while he unraveled.But in their story?I had to be the problem.Too angry.Too jealous.Too boring.Too emotional.Too much.Too little.Too something. Because if I were human—if I were loyal, good, patient, and hurting—then they were the bad guys.And that’s a truth they couldn’t bear to carry. So they…