If you taught me anything, it was to stop trusting people on online dating websites. You made yourself into a dream I did not want to wake up from. Digitally, you were the whole package. You came from a good family, you go to church on Sundays, you have a career, your own home, and a dog named Toby. You made me laugh when we Skyped, and when we talked on the phone, you told me stories of your childhood spent on your grandparent’s farm. You told me my passion for cooking made me attractive, but I needed to learn to enjoy drinking coffee. You asked me about my days and often talked with me through the nights about life on the road, home-brewed beer, and the plans we had for our future. At one point you told me you loved me.
I can understand why your wife married you, seven years before I came into the picture. When you want to be, you’re a really good guy. You just lived a double life. One, I was unknowingly being dragged into and helping to create. It was only through a mutual friend halfway across the country that I found out about her and the newborn daughter you welcomed into the world just a few days ago. I want to make it known that carrying the title of “the other woman” was never something I wanted to have. But it became permanently imprinted on my identity when you had the decency to lie to me about it all.
You’ve already ghosted and blocked my number. One can only hope that you’re stepping up and becoming the father and husband your family needs you to be, and not that you’re hiding online, waiting for the next girl who’ll be naive enough to shower you with attention, like I once did. I’ve toyed with the ideas of sending ya’ll a congratulations card in the mail and calling your wife one day when you’re not home to explain everything, but as much pain as you put me in, for your sake, I’m not going to be messing around with any of that. I truly want you and your family to succeed.
I hope you learn from your mistakes and stay off the internet for a little while. Live a better life. I sure will.