Two days after I made the decision to go no contact, desperately clinging to the hope of peace and clarity, I stumbled upon something that shattered me all over again. It started innocently enough—one morning, I received a notification in Honor of Kings, the mobile game my husband and I used to play together. He had sent me a gift of friendship, a feature which I thought he used to initiate communication with me.
Curious, I clicked on his profile, thinking nothing of it at first. But what I saw next sent a chill through me: he had been playing at least four games with someone named Jajanna. It was like a slap in the face, the kind that left me breathless and disoriented. The username was all too familiar, and the implications hit harder than I ever expected. The mobile game that once symbolized teamwork and connection between us had become the stage for their bond—a bitter reminder of everything I had been trying to escape.
Was I surprised? No. Deep down, I knew this was coming. This is who he is. He’s the man who lies with ease, who manipulates reality to suit his version of the story, and who makes me doubt myself every step of the way. I’ve always known he is dishonest. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.
It was as though he had been waiting—just waiting—for the moment I stepped away to dive back into the arms of betrayal. I expected this, but I never imagined it would be so vulgar, so blatant, so soon. What stings the most is the sheer disrespect. I asked for no contact to free myself, not to pave the way for him to reconnect and bond with her.
I wanted to confront him. I wanted to scream, 'I knew it! You two never disconnected!' But I stopped myself, because I could already hear his response in my mind. He’d brush it off, saying, 'It’s just a game!' He’d minimize my feelings, pretending that reconnecting with Janna didn’t hurt me—his wife—like a fresh wound. He’d twist the narrative, accusing me of being overreactive, obsessive, or even abusive for noticing these things at all.
And then, there’d be the denial, the mischievous grin that hides his guilt as he says, 'Isa lang ba ang Janna sa mundo? Ang dami kaya ng Janna!' As if trying to convince me that I’m the crazy one for making connections, while he knows full well who this Jajanna is. The games he plays aren’t confined to a mobile app—they’re part of his routine, a way to gaslight and distort reality until I’m questioning myself instead of him.
The very thought of engaging in this predictable, exhausting cycle made my chest tighten. It was the same story, over and over. His denials, his deflections, his accusations—it was always a game to him, a game he played at my expense.
So, I chose silence. I chose to let my knowledge, my clarity, speak for itself. I no longer needed to confront him because I finally saw him for who he truly is. And for the first time, I realized that the anger I carried wasn’t just about him—it was about me. Because if I allow this man back into my life after everything he’s shown me, then the betrayal isn’t his—it’s mine.
Significance of the Game:
The mobile game, Honor of Kings, was never just a game for me and my husband. It was a space where we could connect, laugh, and share victories, even in the chaos of our daily lives. It represented a rare form of bonding. For a while, it felt like the one thing we did right—together. It was supposed to be our escape, our shared joy. But now, seeing it turn into the stage for their secretive connection, I can’t help but feel like it’s another symbol of betrayal.
Timing and Impact:
The timing of this discovery is what made it hit hardest. Just two days after I decided to go no contact, trying to free myself from this toxic cycle, I found out that instead of taking time to reflect or respect my decision, he was already investing time into playing with Janna. It was a slap in the face. His actions spoke louder than any words he could have said.
The timing wasn’t just a coincidence—it was a direct challenge to my decision to walk away. And though it initially made me want to confront him, to shout out, “I knew it! You never disconnected from her!" it ultimately strengthened my resolve to stay no contact. I realized that nothing good would come from me reaching out to him. He wouldn’t validate my feelings. He would twist it, deny it, and make me feel like the crazy one.
Symbolism of ‘Jajanna’:
The name Jajanna—a name I had long suspected but never had confirmation of—felt deliberate. It wasn’t just some random name in a game. It was a symbol of everything I feared: their quiet reconnection, their shared bond, their disregard for the pain they caused me.
Every time I see the name, I feel a mix of anger, betrayal, and validation. It’s like a constant reminder of the countless times I tried to voice my concerns, only to be accused of being obsessive or paranoid. It’s like the universe gave me this small piece of proof, just as I was starting to doubt my own intuition.
Was it deliberate? Absolutely. The timing was too perfect, the connection too real. He might say it’s nothing, but I know better.
Clarity and Reflection:
This discovery didn’t surprise me. In fact, it only reinforced everything I had already suspected. For too long, I lived in a relationship where my feelings were invalidated, and my intuition was constantly questioned. This was just another piece of the puzzle—another reminder that he had never truly disconnected from her. The disrespect was clear, and it was never about the game. It was about his willingness to keep disrespecting me in this way.
It reinforced the belief I had about myself, too: I am not crazy. I am not paranoid. I am not obsessive. I trusted my instincts all along, and now I have the proof.
Conclusion:
As I sit with all of this, the pain has shifted. It’s no longer the anger that drives me—it’s the clarity. I’ve spent too long in a relationship where I questioned my worth and let myself be manipulated. Now, I know who he is, and I know what I deserve. No matter how much I loved him, I deserve better. I deserve honesty, respect, and peace.
This journey isn’t easy, and it isn’t over, but every step I take away from this toxic cycle brings me closer to finding the light again.
The Pattern of Blame: "Obsessed" and "Paranoid"
Throughout our marriage, I was consistently labeled as "obsessed" or "paranoid," labels that stung deeply each time they were used. Whenever I would bring up concerns—particularly regarding his infidelities—he’d dismiss them with smirks, rolled eyes, or by physically disengaging with me: no eye contact, slouching, or simply acting uninterested. These moments felt like a slap in the face. I would open up to him with all my pain, my hurt, and all I received in return was indifference. And when I brought up images or proof of his betrayal, it wasn’t met with any accountability. Instead, I was harshly labeled as obsessed, with him asking things like, "Si Janna na naman? Obsessed ka sa babaeng yan." As if it were so simple, so easy for me to just move past the years of betrayal.
He would even go further and tell me things like, “Do I really need to provide the other girls I used to get away from you?” It was as though my hurt and my pain were irrelevant—just an afterthought in the narrative he created. Everything was always about me being "too emotional," "too obsessed," "too paranoid." But the truth was always there, hidden in the shadows of his behavior, quietly whispering that my concerns were justified.
Manipulation and Deflection: His Games and My Pain
Whenever I raised concerns, it was as though I was trapped in an endless cycle of verbal gymnastics. He’d verbally tell me that he was "listening," but his actions, gestures, and subsequent behavior told a completely different story. For instance, before we went no contact, I cried my heart out, telling him how deeply it hurt me that I couldn’t trust him anymore. His response? "Masama kang asawa," as if I were the problem—I was the bad wife for feeling betrayed and insecure after multiple infidelities.
His words painted me as the villain, even though he had physically abused me and cheated countless times. He even tried to twist the narrative, accusing me of emotionally abusing him. He would point out that I was the one who couldn’t move on from the past. But how could I? From June 2022 to January 2023, there was a continuous string of betrayals. How could I believe that we were fixing things when he kept making me feel like the problem?
And now, looking at his actions—just two days after deciding to go no contact—he’s right back at it with Janna. His lies, his manipulation, and his excuses were nothing but a charade. He only ever pretended to fix things when he knew it was to his advantage.
Self-Doubt: The Constant Battle Within
The labels, the dismissals, the repeated betrayals—they all led me to question myself. There were times when I couldn't tell if I could trust myself, or if I was just too hurt and blinded by my emotions. I often felt like I was stuck between wanting to fix our family and the painful realization that I was betraying myself every time I let him back in. Every time he came back with an apology or some gesture of accountability, it was always vague, always just enough to make me question if I was ungrateful for asking for more.
The breadcrumbs he’d throw my way, pretending that everything was okay, always made me feel like I was the one at fault. Was I ungrateful for wanting him to truly change? For wanting more than just fleeting good moments? I fought within myself—constantly battling whether my pain was valid or whether I was just being "too much."
But now, after everything, I know my instincts were right. I can trust them. I should have trusted them from the beginning, and I regret allowing him to manipulate my perception of reality.
Patterns in the Relationship: A Never-Ending Loop
What always hurt the most was how I was made to feel that my voice didn’t matter. The pattern was clear: I could only be okay if I stayed silent and ignored my pain. If I raised any concerns, I became the problem. The pattern with Janna was unmistakable—every time I thought they were over, something would happen to prove me wrong.
For example, on January 17, 2023, he sent me a message that looked like a breakup note with Janna. It felt like they were staging it just so I would believe they were over. But here’s the kicker—after the breakup messages, that's when I saw them together cuddling in a public transport, riding a motorcycle in the town where my husband left me and our child to ourselves, while I was led to believe they were broken up. All the while, I was dealing with the aftermath of his actions, including the VAWC case, Janna even had the audacity to attend my husband’s family gathering, and he denied that it was his invitation that brought her there. It was clear—they were playing their game while I was dismissed, left to process the pain of realizing that their connection had never truly ended.
The Staged Breakup Message: A False Sense of Closure
In January 2023, I was confronted with a message exchange between my husband and Janna that, at first glance, seemed to signal the end of their affair. My husband sent her a formal, almost rehearsed message, claiming, "I’m choosing my wife over you" and "I no longer need a temporary one." For any wife, reading this would stir a rush of emotions: confusion, disbelief, and, worst of all, a deep sense of betrayal.
Here I was, left holding onto the belief that we were trying to fix our broken relationship, only to be handed these cold words. His message felt like an attempt to reassure me, but instead, it only deepened my pain. The way he phrased it made me feel like I was the one who had to thank him for choosing me, as though it were a monumental decision, not one born out of genuine commitment, but one forced upon him to avoid facing the consequences of his actions.
Janna's response was just as manipulative. She thanked him for the time they shared, calling herself a temporary source of peace and happiness for him, almost as if she was elevating her role to something noble, when in reality, she was a part of the destruction of our family. "I’ll support your decision if you’re happy with your wife," she wrote, as if she were making some noble sacrifice. In reading that, my heart sank. I didn’t feel supported—I felt mocked. How could she, or he, so easily pretend to move on while their affair lingered in the shadows?
But what truly crushed me was that my husband sent these messages to me. They weren’t just part of some private exchange. He showed me what I thought was their "closure" while knowing full well that their affair wasn’t over. For any wife, reading such a message from your own husband—someone who claimed to want to repair things—feels like a slap in the face. It’s not just a breakup; it’s a betrayal of trust on top of betrayal. It’s the realization that the very person you’re fighting for, the one you’re trying to rebuild with, is the same person still playing a game behind your back.
For a moment, I almost believed it. I wanted to believe it. But then reality set in. Their words didn’t match their actions. How could they? How could he claim to choose me while still keeping her around in secret? How could they both pretend to move on, when they were still moving together in the shadows?
In that moment, I felt every possible emotion: rage, sadness, confusion, and, most intensely, humiliation. It wasn’t just a betrayal of trust—it was an emotional assault. To read those words, to be fed such a staged narrative, left me questioning my worth. Was I nothing more than a consolation prize? Had I truly been that blind? It made me feel like a fool, like I was the one clinging to a false hope while they continued to build their secret world together.
But what I’ve realized is this: those messages were nothing more than an attempt to cover up the truth. They were written to make me believe they were done, to make me question my own instincts, and to silence my pain. But every piece of the puzzle was there, staring me in the face. They were still connected—just in a different way. And as much as they wanted to portray their "closure" to me, their actions spoke louder than any words ever could.
Realization of the Truth: Validation and Clarity
When I discovered that my husband was playing the game with Janna just two days after our decision to go no contact, it was like a slap of validation. It eased the confusion and pain I had been carrying. For so long, I doubted myself. Was I crazy for feeling this way? Was I obsessed? But this discovery confirmed it all. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t obsessed. My feelings were valid. The reasons for my feelings were real, and he kept proving me right.
The repeated dismissals, the accusations, and the manipulation were deliberate tactics. He wanted to make me question everything, even my own instincts. But now, I see it clearly: I was never the one in the wrong. He is.
Processing the Hurt: A Step Toward Myself
Finding out about the game wasn’t just painful—it was clarifying. It wasn’t just another betrayal; it was the final confirmation that I had been right all along. For years, I had tried to make sense of his behavior, second-guessing myself, questioning whether I was being too much, too emotional, or too obsessed. But in that moment, when I saw him playing that game with Janna, everything clicked. It wasn't just about the hurt—it was about understanding the truth, the truth I had been denying because I wanted to believe in the man I thought I married.
This discovery was painful, yes, but it also validated my decision to go no contact. The pain I felt wasn't just about him continuing the same pattern, it was about seeing myself, finally, clearly. Going no contact wasn’t just about taking a step away from him; it was about taking a step toward myself. For the first time in a long time, I chose my own healing, my own peace, and my own strength. No longer would I remain tangled in the web of his deceit and manipulation. I was reclaiming my life.
Even as they continue their game, I am choosing to break the cycle. I am choosing myself. And with each day that passes, I am becoming stronger. I’m learning to trust my instincts again and to trust that I deserve more than this. More than the emotional games, the endless betrayals, and the manipulations that tried to drown me.
A Call to Others in Similar Situations: Your Feelings Are Valid
To anyone who has ever been called "obsessed" for simply wanting honesty, for wanting respect, for wanting the truth—know this: your feelings are valid. You are not crazy for connecting the dots. You are not paranoid for noticing the patterns. Your heart knows what it feels, even when the mind tries to rationalize it away.
If you're reading this and you feel trapped in a cycle where your pain is dismissed, where you’re made to feel like the problem, I want you to know that the truth has a way of coming to light. And when it does, let it guide you—not back into the cycle, but toward your freedom. The journey isn’t easy, and the pain may feel unbearable at times, but it’s worth it to step into the light, to trust yourself, and to prioritize your own well-being.
Remember, you are not alone. This path may feel isolating, but there are others who understand, who have walked similar roads, and who stand with you. You deserve more than a life of manipulation, deceit, and false promises. You deserve a life filled with love, honesty, and respect—starting with the love you give to yourself.
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