Yesterday, as I was going through some of our submitted content, I came upon something so insane that I had to share it. A user submitted “An Anonymous Letter to my Boyfriend’s Wife,” and it is quite literally one of the juiciest things I’ve ever read. There are affairs happening all the time, and the parties usually feel some sense of shame, which is to be expected when you mess with the sanctity of marriage. Not this user. She is either so delusional or so in love that she honestly believes that the wife is some awful human and she is saving him. But the piece was so poetic that even in my hatred for this “other woman” I still wanted to know more. I still wanted to hear every sickening detail of her story. And I thought you might too.
Anonymous Letter to my “Boyfriend”‘s Wife
I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. I know you know of me, though; and even who I am, probably. I am the shadow in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. I am the Evil that’s always on alert, ready to swoop in when your face is turned. I am the thing you most fear when you think about your future. Except, I am not.
I am not a double-zero, beautiful, blonde yoga instructor with the legs of a gazelle. I do not have a perfect smile (actually, it’s kinda crooked, and I look like a squirrel when I smile), and probably, when you’ve seen me in the street, you haven’t even given me a second look. I am actually a 5’4 brunette, with childbearing hips and an ass the size of Zimbabwe. I can blend into the tapestry, or stick out like a sore thumb. Most of all, I am not a terrible human being. I’m just completely in love with your husband. And it’s totally ok.
When I walked into the bar that day, I didn’t expect to meet him, and I didn’t expect my whole world to flip upside down. More importantly, I didn’t want it to. But from the second we locked eyes, the game was over. He knew it, I knew it, and everyone who was there that night knew it, too. The electricity was undeniable, tangible. Conversation was easy; linking arms with him was easy; going to his friend’s house, just to have more time, was easy. He slept over that night, you know. Nothing happened; we just talked about your upcoming shotgun wedding, and your unplanned (but nonetheless exciting, and beautiful) pregnancy, and then we cuddled and fell asleep. I woke up the next morning to kick him out so I could see some friends. But he insisted on breakfast; insisted on getting to know me; insisted on being himself. I had never experienced that before, and as the rain poured down all over us, and I felt like we could drown, none of it mattered at all. Even you. Because he was right there with me, walking on the edge of a dangerous fence, wondering when we would fall.
That night, we went out for his “bachelor party.” I was so mean to him. I made fun of his hair, his car, his outfit – anything to stop whatever I was feeling. But as we drank, I had a moment of clarity. I looked over at your dorky then-fiancé, who was staring at me as if he had found water in the desert, and all I could think was how much I wanted to just kiss him. So, I did, and the whole universe stopped spinning.
A thousand? Who knew?
Again, we went home and cuddled.
I won’t regale you with details of every time we hung out, but you should know that we really made an effort to stop. I didn’t see or speak to him for a few months after that, but every. single. day. was like torture. When he finally reached out again, I had to see him. I had to touch him.
He looked… different. Smaller. I couldn’t figure it out at first. When I finally got to kiss him again, however, it was like melting. Into what, I don’t know. But subconsciously, I had figured out what was different. He pulled away, and under his cheeky, lopsided, beautiful smile, I saw his Light again.
Time passed, and I was there as you drained his energy from him. I watched as he went from a happy, go-lucky, fun-loving man; to a shadow: broken and beaten by a life he hadn’t chosen – by a life you forced him into. Perhaps, if I were you, I might have done the same. But today, my heart still breaks as I watch him struggle.
I held his hand as he told me how you betrayed the trust he put into you; I rubbed his shoulders as he tried to figure out a way to make your life better; I massaged his feet as he broke down over things you had said about him; and I kissed his cheek as he told me he had finally gotten to meet the love of his life – your baby. All the while knowing that, conventionally, what we were doing was wrong. All the while knowing that, somewhere, you were sitting at home (or perhaps you’d had to leave again) trusting him to be faithful to you, while you pushed him away, harder and harder.
He is the type of man you should have cherished. He cares about every tiny thing I (or you, or anyone) say; he rubs my feet when I’ve been working for 72hrs straight; he strokes my hair as we cuddle on the couch; he ALWAYS puts my needs before his own. And try as we might to just stop, to just move on, to just be better people, it is impossible. He is my magnet, and I am his.
I will continue to cook him dinner, even as he tells me he’s going to try and fall in love with you, again. I will continue to rub his back, even as he tells me that he would never leave you, due to his sense of responsibility, honor, and even love. I will continue to stroke his hair as he tells me the ways he plans to give you a more comfortable life. I will continue to let him use my body for the sexual relief it was your duty to give, even as you refuse to do so. I will continue to build him up, piece by emotional piece, even as you continue to pull him apart. I will continue to invest my time in his mental well-being, even as I wait for him to walk away from me. Even as I anticipate him choosing to stay for you, as opposed to leaving for himself. And when he does, I will walk away with a smile, grateful to have known him as I do. Hopeful, that he is finally happy. Hopeful that you can give him the Life he deserves.
Why? Because that? That, dear Wife, is true Love.
There were so many truly cringe-worthy lines. This was my favorite! “I will continue to let him use my body for the sexual relief it was your duty to give, even as you refuse to do so,” followed ever so closely by “Time passed, and I was there as you drained his energy from him.”
I know that there are women out there who will relate to this. Because everyone wants to think that their love story is the one that matters. You want to think that the wife or the girlfriend is the blip in the radar, and you are the forever. So these other women try to be everything that the “wife” is not. They’re not “crazy,” and they don’t nag, and they want to have sex, like, all the time, and they cook and clean and wait on their men hand and foot. And the wife is just…real. She’s herself. Not a projection of what he wants her to be. And I’d rather lose the man and keep myself. But that’s just me..
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