04/16/2026
Monologue of the Mistress
I hesitated for a long time before telling my story.
It’s shameful. It’s painful. But if even one woman hears me and stops before making the same mistake, then it will be worth it.
When it all began, I was a single mother with two small children. Tired, overwhelmed, hungry for attention. And then there he was — a respected man in the church, a family man, an example to everyone. He helped me, and I felt seen.
I thought God had finally noticed my suffering and sent me comfort.
But it wasn’t God. It was my weakness.
He told me he wasn’t understood at home.
That his wife was cold.
That he was unhappy.
And I listened.
I listened as if every word he said was a declaration of love.
I tried to be better than his wife.
Better in everything.
I cut back on my own children so I could buy him groceries, gifts, clothes.
I wanted him to see that I was the one who truly understood him.
When intimacy happened between us, I knew it was wrong.
He knew it too.
But we both pretended that love justified everything.
His wife sensed something.
And I… I left clues.
Hair clips in his car.
Notes in his notebook.
I wanted her to lose her mind, so he would say, “See, she’s unstable, I was right.”
I thought that if she left, I would finally become his wife.
For three years I lived in this lie.
For three years I destroyed someone else’s home.
And when his wife finally broke and left, I thought I had won.
But God does not bless what is built on someone else’s tears.
We started seeing each other openly.
He promised marriage.
Then he went away for work — and there he found another woman.
Younger than me.
Prettier.
From a wealthy family.
He lived between two cities and two women.
With me — in secret.
With her — as a “future wife.”
I felt him slipping away.
But I kept cooking for him, packing food for his trips, giving him everything I had left.
I thought, “As long as I stay close, everything will work out.”
When I found out I was pregnant, I was happy.
It was my dream — to give him a son.
I believed that now he would finally choose me.
But he convinced me to have an abortion.
He spoke gently, tenderly, as if he cared.
And I… I agreed.
I ended my child’s life for a man who wasn’t worth even one of my tears.
After that, I learned about the other woman.
There was a fight.
He left me.
He secretly married her.
Went on a honeymoon.
And then I broke.
I sent his new wife and her entire family our messages, photos — everything.
I thought I was fighting for justice.
But in reality, I was drowning in my own guilt.
And only then, at the very bottom, I understood:
I had become the betrayed woman I once hurt.
I destroyed someone else’s family — and lost my own.
I wanted to be his wife — but another woman became his wife.
I wanted to give him a son — but another woman gave him a son.
I was left with nothing.
Empty‑handed.
With a heavy heart.
With sins I chose myself.
But God is merciful.
When I finally repented — truly, deeply, painfully — He gave me another chance.
I met a man thirteen years older than me.
Calm, reliable, kind.
We married.
We had two more children.
And in this marriage, there is peace.
Not passion, not secrecy, not chaos.
But quiet, honest, blessed peace.
And now I tell every woman:
Do not build your happiness on someone else’s suffering.
Do not trust the words of a man who betrays his wife — he will betray you too.
Do not destroy another woman’s home — because one day your own will collapse.
And above all — do not give your soul to someone who will never give you his.
I say this not as a judge.
I say this as someone who walked through fire and almost burned alive.
If my story saves even one woman, then I have told it for a reason.
