Your Boyfriend Cheated On You With Me, And It’s Not Your Fault

Your boyfriend cheated on you with me, and contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t your fault. Our affair began when we started working together at our college. With the same schedules and working for the same boss, it was inevitable some sort of relationship would form. But I swear I never meant for it to go this far. He convinced me that you two had grown apart weeks before the eventual stolen kisses and steamy office make out sessions. And it was your fault you two had grown apart — you only worked nights, something you insisted on doing despite his argument that he would never see you. He was right, or so I had thought; it was your fault. You should have been more considerate, you should have changed your schedule to accommodate someone in your life who you supposedly loved so dearly. Right? But as time has passed I’ve been able to reflect and realize how naive I’ve been. It was you who had rent to pay — not him, who was living with his parents. Of course you worked nights — night shifts make quite a bit more money, how could you afford not to? And that’s when I realized: despite his best efforts to convince me otherwise, he was cheating on you, and it was most certainly was not your fault.

He used to complain that you were always grumpy, constantly starting fights just to bicker. And for awhile I believed him. But after a few months of our forbidden relationship I learned what a true asshole he could be. (He had warned me of this too but I chose to laugh it off). I felt as though I were constantly walking on egg shells around him — what was going to anger him this time? I realized it was him who was starting fights for the hell of it. I found myself in a constant battle to try to please him even when what it made me unhappy. And I’m sure you did too. But perhaps you are stronger than me. Perhaps instead of lying down and giving in to assure his approval you fought back, and you asserted yourself. You weren’t grumpy; you were just trying to deal with his mood swings. Eventually our strictly office romance migrated out of our work environment and into my house. That’s when things got heavier. He never saw you anymore, he attested, and it “wasn’t like you guys were sleeping together anymore.” Perhaps that was true, but I suppose I’ll never know. Even if it was true, it wasn’t your fault. And yet despite all of this, I still loved him. I was absolutely crazy about him; about the way he made me feel when things were going good. It wasn’t something I couldn’t give up so easily no matter how much I wanted to walk away.

January came and he realized he had a decision to make: you or me. To my astonishment he chose me. At least I assumed he did, but honestly who even knows for sure? Either way, it wasn’t your fault. He was my boyfriend now and although I should have been joyful — after all, I had won the ultimate game — I wasn’t. I only met some of his family a few brief times. I never got to meet his friends because they “wouldn’t like me, they missed her.” We didn’t go out much, but instead mostly hung around my house. I didn’t care. I still loved him. I was slightly suspicious of him, but I felt I was in love, and so it continued for another three months. Another three months of an emotional roller coaster in which I felt completely adored one moment and absolutely abandoned the next. Eventually my birthday came, and after a lot of beating around the bush he announced, over text message, he wasn’t coming over. That he had thought about it and he didn’t think we should be together. He said it was because he thought I didn’t care about him, about our relationship. Despite all I had put into it. He went back to you. I lost my boyfriend to you and it wasn’t my fault. But I still didn’t give him up; he was still wanted me in a physical way and I convinced myself that was good enough. And that wasn’t your fault either.

Months later, after accidentally stumbling on your Facebook, I found a picture of you in a stunning wedding dress, with him proudly on your arm, and I realized it was time to end it. Although he had told me he wasn’t married — let alone engaged — I can’t say I was entirely shocked. I should have ran at that point. Slammed my laptop shut and never spoke to him again. I tried to put myself in your shoes; you’re probably a great person, a wonderful wife, and an excellent friend. Maybe you’re a great cook. You’re a great decorator; I’ve seen your work around your house. But these rationalizations didn’t matter because we both know I’m a weak woman at times, and my judgment is at best shitty when it comes to him. And that’s not your fault either. I often wonder if you ever found out about us before you were married. And if, even after knowing about his betrayal, you still chose to be with him. And now I wonder if you know that, despite his vows to love you for better or for worse, here we are again. Your husband is cheating on you with me, and it’s not your fault. It’s mine. It’s all mine. I can’t give him up. I’m sorry.