An Open Letter Of Explanation From ‘The Other Woman’

Darius Bashar / Unsplash

Dear Woman That I’ve Shared A Man With,

I don’t know much about you other than your first and last name. I also know where to find you on social media which has taught me what you look like. I know where you work and whatever else I can piece together based off what the man (boy) that I love has told me. Which also brings me to know we have the same taste in men. I often wonder if you know my name or if you have found my Instagram and have had a look around. Do you think I’m pretty? Do my tattoos intimidate you?

I wonder if I’m the “other woman” to you.

Do you question if I thought you’re the “other woman”? The answer is foolishly, yes. Or maybe you have no idea who I am. I would be insulted but not surprised by the man (boy) we love is an impressive liar. He told me once that my name wasn’t actually my name and I believed him.

Sometimes I want to ask you to meet me at the coffee shop that is right around the corner from your job since I know I’ll never mail this out. I would tell you all about my first relationship and how that turned out for me. I would tell you how after that relationship I thought I would never breathe pure air again.

I would tell you how I used to take showers so hot that my pale skin would match my bloodshot in attempts to clean the “other women” off of me.

I would tell you about how my teenage bedroom walls could recite my cries so well that it could still haunt my mascara stained pillows. This was all until I met the man (boy) we both love.

I would tell you all of this so you could begin to understand why at first I felt sick looking into a mirror knowing I have been the “other woman” you would burn skin over if you knew. By “sick” I don’t mean the emotional feeling of your heart dropping to the bottom of your stomach. By “sick” I mean wanting to be hospitalized. By “hospitalized” I mean wanting to have my arms tied down to keep me from pulling at knotted hair that became tear soaked dreadlocks.

Sometimes I want to ask you to meet me at the coffee shop that is right around the corner from your job to ask if you know me. Have you ever been to the restaurant where I work? Have you ever asked him to go on a date there? Did he make up some excuse as to why you couldn’t? I would ask you if you’ve ever lost sleep over me. I’ve named countless amount of sheep after you. I’d tell you all the red flags that I missed just in case you were also in denial and missing them yourself. I would share with you the story of the time he grabbed me by chunks of my hair to make sure I was eye level with him as he yelled at me over you. He looked me in my eyes and told me I was crazy. I loved him more after that.

I would confess to you that for a long time I envied you.

Why do you get the man (boy) that we love? Didn’t God think I deserved what I desired the most? I realize now that He was saving me, but I question why He hasn’t saved you. Right when the man (boy) we love came around I started to write again. The last thing I wrote before meeting him was how I wished God would give me something to write about other than my first heartbreak caused by ex. I didn’t know He was sending material to write about my worst heartbreak caused by yours. I didn’t pick up a pen in the nine months I spent with him.

Sometimes I want to ask you to meet me at the coffee shop that is right around the corner from your job to tell you how mad at you I am. How could you not see this happening? How did you not question him staying at my home five out of seven nights a week? You must have noticed his favorite shirts were missing. You must have smelled my Victoria’s Secret perfume on him and realized our man (boy) was keeping his own secret. I’m not proud to admit I was careless and left marks on his skin. How did you ignore vandalism on your property? I’d question how you didn’t feel the urge to follow the trail of condoms from your bed all the way to mine.

I would be ashamed to say that I knew if he had the ultimatum between us he would’ve picked you.

I’d be ashamed to know that you could have saved me from this. I’m ashamed because it’s selfish to blame you for pain you would have felt too had you known. I would tell you everything so I wouldn’t have to feel that pain alone. It’s hard to explain to my friends that I felt like a heart that had my name on it belonged to someone else. It was a heart I was renting from an owner. I’ve come to the conclusion that it takes around three months to start healing. I’ll never know for sure since the man (boy) we love won’t let me go the full three months without popping up on my phone. I would be ashamed to say that I know he wouldn’t let you go a full forty-eight hours.

I know I’ll never meet you at that coffee shop and I know I’ll never send this letter but if I did, I would tell you how many letters I’ve written to God asking Him to forgive me.

I would ask you to forgive me.

I would tell you that I understand why you love him and it doesn’t make you a bad person for loving someone like him. I would tell you that sometimes I don’t blame you, but other times I do. I would write you a letter or take you to that coffee shop to tell you everything that I needed you to tell me about the man (boy) that we both love.


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