Chapter 1: The Boy Who Said He’d Wait
Once upon a time — before she knew what betrayal felt like in the body, there was a boy who looked at her like she was made of something he wasn’t quite worthy of, but wanted anyway.
She met him in the soft light of youth. Back when young love still felt like magic, and hearts hadn’t yet learned how to flinch.
He wasn’t the kind of boy you’d expect. Not loud, not obvious. But quiet in that way that made you lean in closer. As if he had something sacred to say, but only to you.
He told her she was rare, that she was different — not like the rest. And she held onto those words like they meant something permanent. Like they came from a place deeper than desire. She let him in, slowly and trustingly, because when someone whispers, “You’re safe with me,” before you’ve ever been hurt, you believe them.
Ahhh, teenage years. They had the kind of love that hides in the in-betweens: between classes, beneath hoodies,
behind half-lies he swore were harmless. He made promises in the dark because that’s where it’s easiest to lie.
And she believed him because no one had broken her yet. They said things like, “One day, we’ll tell our kids how it all started.”
And maybe they would’ve. If he hadn’t already been rehearsing the same lines with other girls who couldn’t even spell loyalty.
If he hadn’t kissed her with a mouth, he never bothered to clean off someone else’s name. But she didn’t know that. She thought this was the beginning of something sacred. But she was already living the opening scene of a goddamn warning. Not a love story but a lesson. And it would carve itself into her — not with poetry, but with proof.
Chapter 2: The First Lie She Swallowed Whole
He didn’t own a phone. That was the first thing that made it easy.
Easy to disappear and not answer. Easy to say “I didn’t know” or “I couldn’t reach you” — even when I needed him.
And maybe at first, I believed it. I made room for it. I waited by the computer. I memorized his online schedule and told myself he was trying and that life was just complicated, and he’d show up when he could. But it didn’t take long before “not having a phone” became the perfect excuse.
Not just to miss a message. But to forget a promise and never have to be accountable.
He didn’t have to lie, not out loud. The silence said enough when the missing pieces added up because the patterns were there. And deep down, I think I knew. Even when I still smiled and called it love.
Chapter 3: The Girl Who Didn’t Want to Know
There is a version of me I want to grab by the shoulders and scream at.
Not because she was weak. But because she was so young. She knew, deep down — but didn’t know what to do with the knowing. She was in her early 20s. Still figuring out who she was and still believing that love was about holding on, not letting go. She thought heartbreak only happened in movies — and that if you gave someone your all, they'd never risk losing it.
She felt the shift in his tone. The distance in his eyes. The flicker of guilt that flashed across his face before he masked it with a joke. She told herself she was overthinking it. That being a “cool girlfriend” meant trusting even when it hurt.
She wasn’t stupid. She was just hopeful. And that hope? It made her ignore the part of her that already knew the truth.
Chapter 4: The Knowing
She could forgive immaturity because people do stupid things when they don’t know better. She could even forgive weakness, the kind that caves under pressure or temptation.
But what she would never forgive, what she still won’t — is the knowing.
The girls who smiled at her while already planning how they’d get close to him. The ones who watched her hold his hand at parties, then waited for her to leave the room. The ones who laughed with her, complimented her outfit, and said, “You’re such a sweet couple,” while secretly hoping he would look her way next.
YOU didn’t trip and fall into that kiss. You walked toward it with a full awareness and eyes open. With her name still ringing in your ears. You knew he wasn’t yours. You knew she loved him. You knew she was doing her best to hold something sacred, and you decided it was funnier to break it.
Don’t pretend now that it “just happened," because it didn’t. It wasn’t a moment of passion. It was a moment of calculation — small, quiet, and cruel.
It wasn’t desire — it was dominance.
It wasn’t about love — it was about leverage. It wasn’t about desire — it was about the win for these girls. And deep down, she knows that. They wanted to be the reason she cried. They wanted to be the ones who could take something from her, something pure, loyal and real.
She was only twenty-one when this happened. Young enough to still believe in the goodness of people, but old enough to carry the kind of pain that doesn’t fully go away. She believed in sisterhood and in eye contact. She believed that when another woman saw her and smiled, it meant something.
They wanted to wear her heartbreak like a prize. Now they can feel it — in their throat, in their gut, in their restless memories. Let it choke and burn.
Now those same women want to pretend it was all harmless? That it wasn’t a big deal? That “they were just kids.” No. They weren’t children. If you were old enough to betray her, you’re old enough to take accountability.
She’s not writing this to spark some dramatic reaction. She’s writing it because she’s done carrying the silence. She’s writing it because she has finally decided to tell the truth. She was never the one who should have been ashamed.
The moment she stopped trying to understand why people hurt her was the moment she finally started healing. She’s not confused anymore.
She sees you now — not just the boy who strayed, but the girls who handed him the map. And if this story makes your stomach flip, your mouth go dry, and your fingers itch to defend yourself? Good.
That’s what truth feels like. She’s not asking for your apology. She’s reclaiming her narrative. And she’s writing it in ink.
Chapter 5: The End
Just this one final thought, written in invisible ink between every chapter of her life since:
You did not win.
The boy you took was never going to become the kind of man beside you that he might’ve had to become beside her. And you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to pull that version out of him, the one you thought you stole — never realizing it was never yours to hold. The pain you caused - it became her alchemy.
Every lie, every kiss behind her back, every fake smile — she melted it all down and reforged herself into something you will never touch again. Because the girl you tried to break? She became the lesson you’ll never outrun. Not when you’re drunk and scrolling and smiling in photos but aching underneath. Not when you lie in bed next to him and feel the emptiness she left behind.
And to Boy X — you will never get the satisfaction. She doesn’t need closure or revenge. She doesn't need anything from you, because you have nothing left that could touch her now.
What you broke wasn’t her heart, it was your future, the one that could’ve grown beside her. And that? That’s the part none of you will ever get back.