I started going to school for my GED and to become a dental hygienist. I met a group of amazing girls and even found my best friend—Betty. She was my age and had just escaped a deeply toxic relationship, so naturally, we gravitated toward each other. I clung to her. I vented to her. We became sisters—always together. When Betty started dating Cole’s brother, I got to see her even more, which made me genuinely happy.
I wasn’t snooping—he left the page open—so I read it. I really wish I could say that’s when I learned my lesson about reading someone else’s Facebook messages… but it wasn’t. Cole had started talking to his ex again. The same annoyingly skinny ex—with a kid—who used to comment on photos of me, saying I looked like someone very unattractive.
At first, their conversation seemed innocent enough. Talking about old times, their kids, what life might’ve looked like if they’d stayed together, if she’d kept their baby. Then she offered to cook him dinner. Not us. Him.
I confronted him. I cried. I felt betrayed. Why would you entertain her knowing how much she hurt me? His response was familiar: You’re overreacting. It’s not what you think. I’m with you, not her.
So I started to detach—not fully, because I still cared. I cared so much that I kept looking. I searched for reassurance and instead found more than I ever wanted to see.
I let myself believe he loved me. I let myself believe I was just “too much.”
(I know now that I wasn’t.)
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