He left me for another girl.

She was five years younger than myself and in his Kempo Aiki-Jitsu class. She actively enjoyed the same hobbies he did, while I was just the supportive girlfriend who really didn’t care for those things.

According to him, she wasn’t the reason he was leaving. He told me that it was because he couldn’t trust me anymore. Because almost two years prior, I had left him for someone else. I had left because I felt like his hobbies had priority over our life together. So badly I wanted to blame him. I know he blames me. Except, this was both our faults. Mine for not having enough faith in him and our relationship. His for not hearing my pleas to save it.

It’s a complicated story and it would take forever to tell.

Long story short: I was depressed, he wasn’t worried, I felt ignored and walked out, we got back together, I worked hard to fix it, I vowed to never fuck up again. After a big fight during the day and an awkward night out with all our friends, I knew something was wrong. That night I asked him for the truth and he gave it to me. After six years together, our journey ended. It was November 2002.

It was supposed to be the highest point in my life. My daughter was 3 months old. Did I mention that we had a newborn baby girl when he decided we were over? Hm. How could I have forgotten that part of the story? Well then. Jump back and add that in there somewhere about three months before he moved out.

Are you back now? Okay. Where was I? Oh, right.

It was supposed to be the highest point in my life. I was 22 and I had a beautiful baby girl with my high school sweetheart. We were finally living away from our parents. It was supposed to be the start of a new chapter to our life together. Except, it wasn’t. It was the end.

If he had come back, I would have forgiven him 100% because I deserved the heartbreak. It was my fault he left. I had torn his heart apart and didn’t do a very good job at mending it. There was no sign of us working things out. I had lost him.

To be continued…