The woman who helped destroy my marriage is now praying for a man who won’t destroy her.
The same woman who had no regard for my pain, my home, my vows—now pleads for a love that won’t treat her the way she helped someone treat me.
It’s almost poetic.
But what stings a little less these days is that I no longer feel threatened by her.
I feel pity.
Because it must be a lonely thing to realize you were never loved the way you thought. That you weren’t chosen. That you weren’t special. You were just useful—until you weren’t.
And still, I struggle to believe she deserves the kind of love she’s asking for.
Not because I’m bitter.
Not because I want revenge.
But because I’ve seen the wreckage she left behind—and walked through it alone.
When someone actively chooses to hurt another woman,
when she willingly becomes a weapon in someone else's betrayal,
when she romanticizes a stolen love story—
She doesn't deserve a soft landing until she learns what it means to take responsibility.
Because I once begged for the love she’s now asking for.
The difference?
I wasn’t standing on someone else’s pain to ask for it.
I was broken and still chose integrity.
I was betrayed and still chose to heal quietly.
She caused pain and now wants peace.
She brought chaos and now prays for calm.
But life doesn't work like that.
You don't get to hurt someone deeply, walk away untouched, and then ask God for a man who will never do to you what you helped do to someone else.
So no—I don’t think she deserves a good man. Not yet.
Not until she faces the woman she was to me.
Not until she apologizes for what she knowingly took part in.
Not until she understands that being “discarded” isn’t karma—it’s clarity finally catching up.
And as I watch her search for something real, I realize:
I’m not angry anymore. I just know better now.
Let her pray.
Let her wait.
Because real love doesn’t come to those who steal it from others.
It comes to those who build it with clean hands and an honest heart.
And I just sat there for a moment. Not angry. Not hurt. Just... sure.
Because it’s clear now:
She didn’t win.
She never did.
That post wasn’t filled with joy or contentment.
It was filled with longing. With disappointment. With realization.
A soft, public prayer wrapped around a very private regret.
It’s funny how life works.
She once took pride in what she thought she "took" from me.
She called it love. She called it fate.
She watched my marriage unravel and thought it meant she was chosen.
But you were never chosen.
You were convenient.
You were temporary.
You were part of a chapter that was bound to collapse—because it was written in dishonesty, betrayal, and stolen time.
And now? Now you’re asking God to give you what you thought you already had.
You’re not the victim. Let’s be clear.
You don’t get to play innocent after playing the other woman.
You don’t get to hurt someone, then ask heaven for healing without ever making amends.
What you had wasn’t love.
It was an illusion built on my silence, my pain, my absence.
And illusions fade.
They always do.
Now you sit there, asking for a real love, a steady partner, a future.
As for me?
I’ve moved on.
Not because I found someone new—but because I found myself again.
You see, I’ve already lived through the worst of it.
I faced the betrayal, the gaslighting, the nights of asking why me.
And now I look back, not with bitterness—but with wisdom.
You got what you wanted… but not for long.
Because anything built on deception has an expiration date.
And yours just came.
