I was lied to—more than once. Lied to before I knew what was going on. Lied to while I was trying to rebuild. Lied to again when I already knew better.

I found messages on her phone from a man saying he loved her. She told me nothing happened. That he just said that, and it meant nothing. That she never actually cheated.

And like a fool—or maybe just like someone desperate to hold his family together—I let her back in. I told her the bare minimum I needed to trust again: leave the job where he still worked. She said no. That should have been the end. But I stayed, for our son. For some fantasy of repair. For the part of me that thought I could make it work.

But the truth is: she was still seeing him during that time. And I knew it. Somewhere deep down, I knew it. And that’s what hurts the most—not just the betrayal, but the way I betrayed myself by ignoring what I felt to be true.

I Lost Trust in Myself

That’s what betrayal really does. It’s not just that someone lied to you—it’s that you start to doubt your own radar. Your own gut. Your own goodness.

How could I let someone like that back in?

How could I put her near my heart again, near our son, near our future?

The answer is: because I was still carrying the wound of someone who believed he had to. That if I just loved enough, tolerated enough, tried enough, things would work. That belief didn’t start with her. It started a long time ago.

She Told Me I Was Broken

The first time she left—when my son was still a baby—she told me I was broken. That she didn’t love me anymore.

That hit harder than anything. Because I already feared it. My whole childhood, I’d been told that I was too much, or not enough. That I was the problem. That love had to be earned—and I hadn’t earned it.

So when she said it, it didn’t even sound strange. It sounded familiar.

But here’s the part that matters:

I didn’t die. I didn’t collapse. I didn’t disappear.

I kept going.

I looked after my son. I made a home. I faced the long nights. I stood back up—even when every voice inside and outside said I wasn’t worth standing up for.

And Now?

I don’t want a relationship with her. I forgive her, but that doesn’t mean I want her in my life. I don’t want to make eye contact. I don’t want to share space. I’ve set boundaries, and I plan to keep them. Others may judge me for it. I don’t care.

We are co-parents. Nothing more.

She doesn’t get to take anything else from me—not my peace, not my worth, not my truth.

I Can’t Believe I Got Through This

But I did.

Despite the lies. Despite the betrayal. Despite the echo of childhood wounds being reenacted in the worst possible ways.

I kept going.

I kept loving.

I kept choosing to show up for my son—and, little by little, for myself.

So yeah… I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m tired of being the one who had to hold all the pain and still be the better person.

But I’m here.

And that matters more than anything she ever said or did.