Honestly, I doubt you’ve even thought about giving me one. Why would you? You probably still believe you were the one who was wronged. The idea of you taking responsibility? Laughable. I’m sure you’re still riding that high horse, telling your version of the story to anyone who’ll listen, painting yourself as the victim.
But let’s be clear — it wasn’t you who got hurt. It was your damn ego.
Oh no, someone didn’t bow down and adore you? Someone dared to see through your act? Must’ve been a real crisis for you. “Oh my gosh, someone doesn’t like me — what am I going to do?” You reacted like a teenager who didn’t get picked for prom court.
The truth is, you still act like you’re in high school. Stirring up drama, whispering behind backs, putting on a sweet little smile while stabbing people in the back. You play nice when it benefits you, but it’s all sugar-coated venom. And when people finally catch on? That’s when the mask slips. That’s when we see who you really are.
And now, so do I.
So no — I don’t expect an apology.
I know I won’t get one. Even if you offered it, I wouldn’t take it. Not because I’m bitter, but because what you did showed me who you truly are. And I can’t unsee it.
What you did was calculated. You didn’t lash out in the heat of the moment — you aimed your anger like a weapon. See, you wanted to hurt me. You wanted me to feel small, to feel what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your coldness. And it worked — but not in the way you think.
It hurt. A lot.
But not because of your words. It hurt because it came from you — someone I never expected it from. Someone I trusted,I believed was safe.
Now, I have to wonder…was any of it real? Or was I just a pawn in whatever narrative made you feel most in control?
You got the real me — flaws, heart, loyalty, all of it. I showed up as my full, authentic self. And in return, I got a performance—a pretty little act, one you dropped the second things didn’t go your way.
That’s not just sad. It’s pathetic.
I don’t wish harm on you.
That’s not who I am. But I do hope — genuinely — that, one day, the weight of your actions catches up with you. Somewhere down the line, it hits you like a punch to the gut. A heaviness you can’t shake. The kind of guilt that keeps you up at night.
I hope you lie awake one night and think:
“How could I do that to her?
How did I cause that much pain?
What kind of person does that?”
And when that moment comes — because it will come — you might pick up your phone to call me.
But I won’t answer.
Not out of spite or to punish you. But the version of me you hurt? The one you broke down and left behind? She’s not here anymore.
You see, I grew from that pain.
I pieced myself back together — stronger, smarter, and with a whole new set of boundaries. And that new version of me? She doesn’t take calls from people who mistook her softness for weakness.
She remembers.
You won’t ever get to know her –she doesn’t go back to people who would even consider it okay to treat her like that in the first place.
Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash
