I told me we could go on. People fail, right? Everyone repeated that. “If he’s sorry and you still love him, maybe it’s worth another shot.” I reclaimed him.
We did therapy, date evenings, and silly YouTube trust exercises. I briefly thought we were doing well.
The barbecue followed.
I hadn’t met most of his relatives until his cousin’s birthday. I was awkwardly attempting to recall names and smiling when someone inquired, “So how long have you two been back together?” But as she entered, everything stopped.
The name is Estelle. Dimples to drown in, tall, curling red hair. She brought a nice fruit dessert and embraced his parents like best friends. Initially, I considered it unimportant until I saw the appearance.
He did it unknowingly. Just paused mid-sentence, staring at her like time halted. You give someone that look when your brain forgets where it is. Pure, yearning want—no shock or fear.
I waited for him to blink or brush it off. But he didn’t. Not for five seconds at least.
I inquired about her later. He claimed they used to “hang out,” casually, like she didn’t matter. But his gaze at her told me otherwise. He apparently forgot I was three feet away.
Every time he touches me, I worry whether he’s imagining her. Wonder if he stopped.
I noticed something in his glovebox yesterday that wasn’t meant to be there. The paper was folded and tiny. Unfolding it felt like my heart was hitting my ribs. Local bakery receipt from a week ago. The bakery featured one item: “Strawberry Tart.” Estelle brought a strawberry dessert to the barbecue.
The synchronicity seemed excessive. Like a stomach punch. He got her a tart like she brought to the family gathering. Was it thanks? A secret meeting? My imagination raced with untrue possibilities.
I couldn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his yearning stare at Estelle. Our alleged trust-rebuilding seemed like it was disintegrating under my feet.
The next morning, I determined to end the ambiguity. I approached him. What’s this? Showing the receipt, I asked.
He became pallid. He stumbled to explain. He first stated it was for a coworker’s birthday, then said he wanted something sweet. Neither explanation made sense.
“Don’t lie to me,” I shakily replied. Was this for Estelle?
Eventually, he acknowledged. He bought her a dessert from the bakery to thank her for the picnic. He said it was a nice gesture. His expression at the barbecue and the hidden receipt revealed a different story.
I was furious, betrayed, and heartbroken. I tried so hard to forgive him and go on, but he seemed to be clinging onto someone else.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I choked. “I can’t keep wondering if you love her.”
He begged me, insisted he just loved me, and wanted me. I kept seeing him staring at Estelle, reminding me of his treachery.
I departed with a bag. I needed time to breathe and decide. He kept calling and texting me to return, but I couldn’t. Not yet.
I was at a friend’s house a week later attempting to rebuild my life. His cousin’s post caught my eye while browsing social media. It was a group barbecue photo. Estelle was chatting to another guy in the background. They laughed, holding hands.
I zoomed in, heart racing. He wasn’t him. It was someone unfamiliar.
I shakily contacted his cousin. Which man is with Estelle in the photo?
His cousin laughed. Liam is her boyfriend. Their relationship is old. Sweet guy.”
Boyfriend. Estelle dated. The look he gave her at the picnic was not yearning. It seemed like familiarity, maybe a shared memory, but not love.
Suddenly, everything changed. After his uncomfortable explanations, the receipt and look made more sense. He wasn’t missing Estelle. Their former relationship had surprised and mortified him, particularly in front of me. And tart? He said it was a kind gesture.
After relief, remorse flooded me. Insecurity and dread clouded my judgment, so I rushed to conclusions.
I phoned him. His voice was desperate when he answered the first call. He heard what I learned about Liam.
Over the phone, there was a lengthy quiet. Then he muttered, “You mean…it was all in my head?”
“Maybe,” I whispered. “Maybe we both let our fears win.”
That night, we discussed our anxieties, errors, and aspirations for the future for hours. We learned that regaining trust wasn’t about him proving himself to me, but about us learning to communicate better and be more honest about our emotions.
My fears and prior pain had warped an innocent exchange into something else. Without guilt, his awkwardness may have been uncomfortable with his history and a wish to escape old sensations. Estelle has her own life and connection as a friend.
The satisfying conclusion didn’t solve all our difficulties. It was a greater knowledge of each other, a renewed commitment to honesty, and an awareness that sometimes our own brains create the greatest impediments to our relationships.
Life lesson: trust is fragile and needs time and work from both parties to recover. It also taught me the value of straightforward communication and not allowing fear and uncertainty rule our thoughts. Sometimes our worst fears are only shadows of our grief.
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