I used to think betrayal was something that happened to other people—something you’d scroll past in an online confession or hear about over brunch. I never imagined it would become part of my story.
Michael and I shared five years of what I thought was a quiet, fulfilling life. We had our routines—movie nights, early morning coffee runs, shared laughter, and steady love. And always, there was Anna. She was my best friend since high school, my maid of honor, part of my chosen family. I trusted her with everything—especially when things with Michael started to shift.
It began subtly. Late nights at work. Distant looks. Fewer conversations. The warmth in our relationship started to fade just as I was navigating a difficult pregnancy. Overwhelmed and unsure, I turned to Anna for comfort.
“You’re just stressed,” she said. “He loves you.”
I clung to those words.
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