The Sarcasm That Follows Betrayal: ‘Good for You’ Isn’t What I Need to Hear

There’s a particular kind of pain that comes from being made to feel like your efforts to uncover the truth are meaningless—or worse, a joke. Each time I find myself piecing together the fragments of my husband’s betrayals, I’m met with his sarcastic response: “Good for you.”

He says it with a smirk or a dismissive tone, as though the weight of the truth I’ve uncovered isn’t breaking me apart inside. And every time he does, I feel the same sharp sting: the invalidation, the disregard for my emotions, the deep loneliness of realizing that even in the face of his wrongdoings, he still refuses to take responsibility.

But no, it’s not good for me. It’s the opposite. It’s devastating. Every clue I find, every confirmation of what I suspected, tears me apart a little more. It forces me to relive the betrayals, to confront the reality that the man I loved and fought so hard for has repeatedly chosen lies and infidelity over the sanctity of our marriage.

When he says “Good for you,” it feels like another betrayal layered on top of the others. It’s a way to downplay my pain, to make it seem as though my search for the truth is a petty, meaningless act. But for me, it’s not about being “right” or “winning.” It’s about survival—about trying to make sense of the chaos his actions have brought into my life.

The Endless Cycle: Living as a Detective

Living like a detective in my own marriage is exhausting. It’s not just the constant searching for answers—it’s the mental toll of always being suspicious, always doubting, always questioning if the person you love is betraying you again.

Even now, with my husband back for the nth time, I can’t escape the anxiety. Every time he leaves the house, a voice in my mind whispers, Where is he going? Who is he seeing? Is he lying again? It’s unbearable. I find myself checking on people he might meet, scrolling through social media for signs, and even considering installing a secret GPS tracker on his motorcycle just to know if he’s being honest.

Yes, sometimes I ask myself: Do I really have to be like this? Always stalking different people, always checking on my husband as if he is still doing wrong? Is this toxic? Do I have a choice? Why am I not choosing to forget and leave everything behind?

I think it’s because of the way my husband lied to me before—pretending we were fixing things, giving me hope while secretly betraying me. Somehow, I still feel the same way now, and it sucks. There are moments when I feel that he’s not entirely honest, moments when his defensiveness feels off. Sometimes, he gives too many unnecessary details, as if he’s overcompensating to hide something. It’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not.

Looking at this pattern objectively, I can see both sides.

On one hand, my behavior—stalking, questioning, doubting—can seem obsessive and unhealthy. It’s a defense mechanism, born out of repeated betrayal, but it’s not sustainable. Living in constant suspicion isn’t just damaging to the relationship—it’s damaging to me. It’s robbing me of peace, making me hyper-vigilant, and keeping me stuck in a cycle of mistrust and anxiety. This isn’t the life I want for myself or my child.

On the other hand, my actions aren’t without reason. They are a direct response to my husband’s behavior. Trust, once broken, is hard to rebuild, and he hasn’t given me enough reason to believe he’s truly changed. His past lies, defensiveness, and the over-explaining all add to my suspicion. How can I ignore the red flags when experience has taught me what they lead to? Choosing to forget and move on feels impossible when the pain of betrayal still lingers.

The truth is, I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to live a life where I feel the need to police my husband’s every move. I don’t want to be the wife who has to stalk others, analyze every detail, and second-guess every word. And yet, his actions have left me no choice. He’s turned me into someone I don’t recognize—someone who is consumed by fear and distrust.

Every time I uncover another betrayal, I’m torn apart all over again. The cycle never stops: his lies, my suspicions, my attempts to find the truth, and his dismissals. It’s a vicious loop that drains me of my energy, my peace, and my sense of self.

The question I keep asking myself is: How do I break free from this cycle?

The Realization: I Deserve Better

There came a moment when I had to ask myself: Is this the life I want to live? The answer, though painful, was clear: No.

For so long, I convinced myself that fighting for my marriage was the right thing to do. I told myself it was a sign of strength, of commitment, of love. But the truth is, I was fighting for something that wasn’t fighting for me in return. I was pouring everything I had into a relationship that left me feeling empty, doubting my worth, and questioning my sanity.

The turning point wasn’t just one big event—it was the accumulation of so many small heartbreaks. It was the repeated lies, the betrayals, the dismissals. It was the way my husband minimized my pain, mocking me with comments like, “Good for you,” when I uncovered the truth. It was the way he asked, “Are you happy?” as if he didn’t understand the devastation of what I was experiencing.

I realized that I wasn’t happy—not because I didn’t want to be, but because this relationship made it impossible. I was exhausted from acting like a detective, from constantly doubting and second-guessing, from feeling like I was the only one holding the pieces of our marriage together.

And then, it hit me: I deserve better.

I deserve to live a life where trust isn’t something I have to chase, where love doesn’t come with conditions, and where my pain isn’t dismissed as overreacting or irrational. I deserve to be with someone who values me enough to be honest, someone who respects me enough to take accountability for their actions.

This realization didn’t come easy. It came after years of trying, hoping, and waiting for things to change. It came after countless nights of tears, after every confrontation that ended with me feeling more broken than before. And while part of me still wanted to cling to the hope that things could get better, another part of me knew that the only way to truly heal was to let go.

Recognizing that I deserve better doesn’t mean I don’t love my husband. It doesn’t mean I don’t wish things had been different. It simply means that I’ve chosen to value myself enough to stop accepting less than I deserve. It means letting go of the life I thought I wanted so I can make space for the life I truly need.

When the Light Feels Far Away: Living as a VAW (Violence Against Women) Victim

They say every journey toward healing begins with a single step, but sometimes, even taking that step feels impossible. And even when I took the first, second, third, and so on steps, I just feel so lost and nowhere near recovery. My name is Jedajane, and this is my story—a story not of survival, but of enduring. As a victim of violence against women, I still find myself in the darkness, grappling with the weight of betrayal, abuse, and pain. I share this not to seek pity, but to give voice to the silence that so many endure. Writing these words is an act of courage for me, a way to confront my reality and perhaps reach others who feel as lost as I do. This blog is not about triumph or closure. It is about the raw, unfiltered truth of living through the shadows of violence and betrayal. My hope is that by speaking up, I can begin to make sense of my pain and remind others that even in darkness, our stories matter. 

My Current Reality 

Life at this moment feels like an uphill battle against a storm that refuses to subside. Each day, I grapple with a mix of emotions—grief, anger, self-doubt, and hope. The aftermath of the abuse lingers, not just in visible scars but also in the echoes of words and actions that repeatedly play in my mind.

There’s a constant tension in navigating daily life while carrying the weight of past traumas. The challenges are not limited to the memories; they extend to rebuilding a sense of self, regaining confidence, and finding stability for my child and myself.

Emotionally, I often feel drained and disconnected. It’s a struggle to reconcile the person I was before with the one I am now—a mother trying to protect her child and a woman striving to find her strength.

What makes this journey harder is the persistent sense of injustice. It’s not only about healing but also about navigating a system that should protect me, advocating for my rights, and ensuring my child grows up in an environment free from fear.

Despite all this, there is a flicker of resilience. Even when the light feels far away, I find moments of clarity—small victories that remind me that survival is an act of courage and hope.

Even in moments when I attempt to rebuild my relationship with my husband, it feels as though the foundation is constantly at risk of collapsing. There’s a persistent fear that, at any moment, he could betray me again, just as he did when I thought we were repairing things back in 2022.

As a married person, I feel a deep sense of obligation to hold on to the person I vowed to spend my life with. But even in the good times, when I look at him, I can’t help but question myself: Is this real? Or is this just another cycle of love bombing to keep me from pursuing the justice I deserve through the VAWC case? I find myself wondering how long this façade of normalcy will last, and that uncertainty is both exhausting and disheartening.

Whenever I try to open up and share my lingering pain from his repeated betrayals, he dismisses my feelings as if they’re unfounded. It’s as if he doesn’t—or refuses to—understand that the hurt from his actions is still very real. His dismissiveness only deepens the ache, making me question whether I’ll ever truly heal in this relationship.

Living with this duality—wanting to believe in the possibility of change while bracing for more pain—is one of the most challenging aspects of my current reality. It’s as though I’m constantly walking on eggshells, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

How I Got Here

My journey to this point is rooted in the hope I had when I first met my husband. We built a life together quickly, moving in after a few months of dating in 2018 and eventually getting married in February 2020. I was ecstatic when I learned I was pregnant shortly after our wedding. However, the joy of our new beginning was overshadowed by a series of painful revelations and incidents that would change everything.

Before long, I discovered troubling details about my husband’s past infidelity with his previous partner, with whom he has a daughter. In his Messenger history, I saw how, even when his ex was just two months postpartum, he was already engaging in sexual relationships with different women and even bragged about these encounters to a friend. One incident stood out vividly—how he pursued an 18-year-old girl and managed to sleep with her after just two dates. The discovery disgusted me, especially as it coincided with the early months of our marriage and my own pregnancy. I didn’t know what to do. Ultimately, I decided to let it go since those incidents happened before we met, but the seeds of doubt, insecurity, and fear were planted. What if the same fate awaited me?

The first major blow came just 10 months into our marriage, in December 2020, when my husband physically hurt me for the first time postpartum. The punch to my face left a bruise I struggled to hide from family during my son's first month celebration. Instead of acknowledging or apologizing for his actions, he deflected and manipulated me into believing I was at fault. I refrained from discussing this with my family and friends, determined to preserve the image of my husband.

In April 2021, another violent incident occurred. During an argument over my mother-in-law’s insistence on feeding my infant son unhealthy food, my husband hit me repeatedly—even as I begged him to stop while holding our baby. After this, I moved out temporarily but begged him to rejoin us, hoping things would improve.

The most shattering betrayals came in 2022 when I discovered his infidelity. On June 5, 2022, I found a receipt from a trip to Laguna, which led to the discovery of an affair with a younger woman, Janna. Confrontations over this incident escalated to another instance of physical abuse, leaving me with a swollen face and an emotional wound that ran even deeper. Despite his promise to change, he later admitted to dating multiple women within a short period, adding to my sense of betrayal.

It made me question everything. I asked so many questions: who, when, why, where. But instead of being given concrete answers or an apology, I was met with deflection. He claimed he needed "air to breathe" and outright denied having a relationship with the 18-year-old Janna. Yet, in the same breath, he admitted to dating a total of eight women while married to me. I didn’t know how to feel about that—how does one even begin to process such a revelation? The weight of it was unbearable, like a blow to my sense of self-worth. It felt as though my reality was being systematically dismantled by the very person I had trusted most.

To support his shocking claims, he even sent me a picture of himself with another woman, as if to prove how easily he could step outside our marriage. Later, when I managed to contact Janna, she sent me yet another picture—this time of him with a different woman. Each piece of evidence felt like another stab at my already fractured heart, a reminder that the betrayal was far deeper and more deliberate than I had initially thought.

In early January 2023, we spent New Year’s together at a bayside hotel in Manila in what I hoped would be a fresh start. Despite the seemingly peaceful moments we shared, I couldn’t shake the lingering doubts and insecurities. I cried as I asked him for reassurance, pleading for honesty about whether he was still involved in any affairs. He promised me, “Matagal nang wala,” and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe him.

But just two weeks later, I uncovered the painful truth. He had continued his relationship with Janna, as evidenced by their affectionate messages where they called each other “Love.” To make matters worse, I discovered Janna’s nickname in his Messenger—“Pepe ni Kagome.” That revelation shattered what little hope I had left. It wasn’t just the betrayal itself that hurt but the deliberate way he continued to deceive me, undermining every effort to rebuild our marriage.

By early 2023, I discovered further evidence of infidelity, including messages exchanged with Janna and other women. Each new revelation felt like a reopening of old wounds. On January 30, I learned of his secret visits to another location, (Purok 13-E, Tandang Sora, Quezon City) sparking another confrontation.

From June 2022, when I first learned about the affairs, I believed we were taking steps to rebuild our marriage. I held on to the hope that we could mend what was broken, trusting his repeated assurances that the affairs had ended. But even as we worked on reconciliation, I later found out that my husband was still going out with different women, including Janna—whom he continued to call "Love." This wasn’t just a one-time mistake but a repeated and ongoing pattern of deceit, making it clear that any progress we thought we had made was an illusion; it was a repeated and ongoing pattern of disrespect and deceit, eroding any progress we thought we had made.