It didn’t begin badly truly, it was like a fairytale to start. My tale began in the summer of 2014. I was 21, a university student and living independently for the first time. I had recently left my upscale student flat and moved to a less expensive one so that I could purchase my first automobile. I believed I was acting independent and responsible, but that car was a headache the moment I got it. It used to die every time I would leave it sitting for too long, and I had to jump-start it every time I wanted to go anywhere.
That is when Khal entered my life. My downstairs neighbor brought us together, saying his cousin could work on my car. The following morning, Khal arrived in the scorching summer heat, adamant about coming to my assistance. I recall feeling sorry for him working out under the sun, so I took him a cold drink before returning inside. He later came knocking on my door inquiring if he could use my laptop so that he could search for something regarding the car. I didn’t feel like letting him in, so I brought the laptop outside and sat with him. Small talk over car parts eventually grew into a lengthy discussion regarding life, dreams, and all things in between. It seemed natural like I’d known him his whole life.
There was something about him that really attracted me. He was kind, self-assured, and humorous in his own peculiar way. He wouldn’t accept any money for assisting me, telling me he just liked spending time with me. That little act meant a lot because I had very little to offer at the time. Shortly after that, we began spending time together all the time. We cooked, we went to new places, we talked for hours, and we just enjoyed being around one another. He made me feel understood and loved in a way I’d never known before.
Khal was the type of man who held doors open, complimented me, and made me feel important. He’d take me to work every morning so I didn’t have to worry about my broken-down vehicle. He said he wanted to start a future with me a life together. I believed him word for word. Soon enough, we made the decision to live together. It was all happening so quickly, but it seemed right at the time.
Not everyone approved. Some of my friends enjoyed him, but one said I was too good for him. My family was not pleased either, more so after hearing that he had three children with two different women and a great deal of debt. But I didn’t listen to what anyone had to say. I believed he was just misunderstood. He confided in me about sad things like not being able to visit his children due to a “bitter” ex, and my heart went out to him. I believed I could heal his hurts. Now that I look back, I see how blind I was.
Things began to change after some months. We initially shared the bills, but before long, he was short of rent. I started filling him in until I was paying for nearly everything. He’d borrow money and never return it. The nice, gentle man I’d fallen in love with just faded away gradually. He was suddenly distant always on the phone, evading me, returning home late without a word. The love turned to confusion and pain. I wept more than I smiled.
One day, I discovered his old phone in the closet. What I saw there destroyed me entirely messages and photos from other women, some dating back to the very start of our relationship. I do recall trembling, weeping uncontrollably that I became nauseated. When I confronted him, despite having evidence in my hand, he still lied. He told me none of those women meant anything. He cried, pleaded with me to remain, and vowed to change. I wanted to believe him, so I took him back. But I knew deep inside already that he would never change.
In the coming years, it only got worse. More deceit, more heartache, more suffering. I had a child, but I was parenting our son by myself as he made up excuses and left for days. It took me four long years before I finally got out. It wasn’t easy it broke me but it also freed me.
Khal stole so much from me my peace, my confidence, my trust but he gave me something too: my daughter, and a strength I never knew existed. And when I see her now, I know why I needed to transform. I want her to look at a mother who wouldn’t give up, who learned her value the hard way.
My story is not a sorrowful one anymore. It’s a tale of healing, learning, and growth, and learning to love myself once more. I don’t despise the girl that I was she simply did not know any better. But now, however, I do. And if anyone who reads this is as stuck as I was once, I want you to feel comfort in knowing you are not alone. You can be reborn again. You can reclaim your power and start anew. Your journey doesn’t end in suffering it starts when you choose yourself.
Because sometimes, the loss of someone is just what you need to finally discover yourself.
