I’m going to be completely honest, even about the parts that make me look bad. Some of this is hard to admit, but it’s my truth. I’m writing this because I think I need some kind of closure.
I (30F) have been with my husband (27M) since January 2022. I love him. We have a healthy, stable, genuinely good relationship. This post isn’t about him—it’s about someone from my past that I haven’t been able to let go of, even after all these years.
I got married at 18 to my ex-husband. We were together from 2014 until we separated in early 2021, and we had three kids. That relationship was toxic from the start—cheating, control, emotional manipulation, and physical abuse.
I didn’t leave home for the right reasons. I left because I didn’t want my parents telling me what to do. My dad told me, “let’s see how long he lasts you,” and I took that personally. I stayed way longer than I should have just trying to prove him wrong.
Over time, I became someone I didn’t recognize. I used to be confident, but with my ex I became insecure, jealous, and controlling—because he was constantly talking to other women and cheating. He made me feel like I didn’t matter, but also like he was all I had because my “family didn’t love me.”
He isolated me from my family. Controlled where I went, who I talked to, how long I stayed. If I didn’t listen, it would turn physical. And I mean constant physical altercations. At some point, I stopped fighting back because I thought maybe he’d get tired of hitting someone who wasn’t resisting. He didn’t.
His mom lived with us and made everything worse. She would tell me a “good wife” stays even if she’s being beaten. That I was the problem. That I should be grateful. I basically became their housekeeper, caretaker, and driver. I even preferred being around her sometimes because at least she didn’t hit me—she just tore me down with words.
I was depressed. Drinking just to not think. There were moments I didn’t want to be here anymore.
Then I met someone.
It was at a friend’s house—her brother. That house became my escape. There were people, laughter, food, kids playing… it felt normal. Safe. I hadn’t had that in so long.
He started noticing what I was going through. I confided in him. We’d sit outside, talk, drink sometimes. One night at a party, after laughing and joking around (something I hadn’t genuinely done in years), we kissed. And I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time—like I was alive.
We started talking. A lot. Sneaking calls whenever we could. The problem was—we were both married.
He was only in the U.S. temporarily and planned to go back to his wife and kids in Mexico. But despite that, we built something real. At least it felt real to me.
He saw me. He told me I had value. He reminded me I didn’t deserve the life I was living. And those words slowly started to change how I saw myself again.
There’s one thing he told me that I will never forget:
“Even if I only serve you to leave that son of a bitch, it’ll be worth it.”
And he did.
Because of him, I found the strength to leave. I went back to my family and realized they did love me—I had just been manipulated into believing otherwise.
But it didn’t end clean.
My ex found out. It turned violent. He beat him, threatened him with a gun, forced him to confess on video, exposed private messages and even a topless picture I had sent. He sent it to his wife. To my family. Posted it publicly.
It was one of the most humiliating, chaotic, and painful times of my life.
His wife reached out to me, and I told her the truth. He later asked me to try to take it back to protect his marriage, and I did. Before everything ended, he told me goodbye… thanked me… and told me that no matter what, he would always love me. That people like me—you don’t forget. You just learn to live without them.
That was the last time we spoke.
It’s been about five years.
I’ve moved on. I rebuilt my life. I’m married to a good man. But I still think about him. All the time.
I don’t feel this for my ex. Not even close. But with him… it’s different. I feel like I still love him in some way, and I don’t know how to let that go.
I don’t want to be with him. I wouldn’t risk my marriage. But I miss him. And I think part of it is that he came into my life when I needed saving the most—and he helped me see my worth when I had completely lost it.
I still have a couple pictures of him. I’ve never been able to delete them.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever run into him again, since he’s from the same town as my husband. And part of me feels like I’d want that, which makes me feel guilty.
My husband knows a little about that time in my life, but not everything. He’s told me he doesn’t care about my past—but this feels deeper than just “the past.”
I don’t know how to let go of someone who meant so much during the darkest time of my life.
Has anyone else experienced this? Loving your partner, but still feeling attached to someone who changed your life in a way you can’t explain?
I don’t know if I miss him… or if I miss who I became when I was finally seen