Then She Reached Out
I stayed with my cousin for a few weeks — tiny apartment, loud kids, but safe. That first night, I cried so hard I thought I’d choke.
Not because I missed him.
Because I finally let myself grieve the version of me who thought love meant shrinking.
Two weeks later, I got a text from an unknown number.
It was her.
The woman from the emails.
“I think we need to talk.”
We met at a coffee shop near her work.
Her name was Lena.
She looked exhausted and scared.
The first thing she said was:
“I had no idea about you.”
She told me he said he was separated, that the divorce was “taking time.”
She believed she was building a family with a provider.
Now she was staring at the wreckage of a man who had used both of us.
We didn’t become friends.
We didn’t bond over betrayal like it was a movie plot.
We just sat there in the truth.
Because there was nothing left to protect.
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