Lies have short legs. Or at least that's what they taught me when I was little. But in this story, the lie has long legs and its nose doesn't grow like Pinocchio's. The story holds plenty of lessons for people like me who believe in unicorns and other mythical creatures. Or, in plain language, who believe that love exists and that it doesn't lie. Yeah, right.
Not like in a romantic film and not like in fairy tales, we met in May 2022. By chance or not, through social media. We had exactly two phone conversations, talking about our children, our sporting hobbies and life. I was captivated by his voice. So much so that two days later I just started my car and set off for Sofia so we could meet in person. In my style or his, doing sport. I couldn't put a face to the voice. I didn't know what was waiting for me. I parked. I held my breath. I don't do things like this – what kind of nonsense is it, driving to another city to see someone. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
What if he was some lunatic? What if he kidnapped me? Or if he did something to me.
I waved it away, cursed myself for thinking nonsense and got out of the car. I looked at myself in the reflection of the driver's window. You could tell I was nervous. Meanwhile, in that same reflection, I saw a tall man who simply hugged me from behind. I looked at him, shocked. I met his gaze. It was exactly as warm as his voice on the phone. All my worries evaporated. In seconds. He'd had his scruples surgically removed. He undressed in front of me. Completely. He didn't bat an eyelid, while I fixed my gaze on the ground. All of it was "too much". I wasn't prepared, but the ice was certainly broken for good.
That's how our story began. With lots of crossed boundaries, a great lack of rational thought and no plan whatsoever. The things I experienced with this man in the brief hours we were together exceeded even my wildest expectations of the term "madness".
And yes, his hands, his gaze and every part of him awakened in me a person I didn't think existed. I remember in detail every word, every breath and every touch. To this day. Less than 24 hours later he was already in my home. More confused than me. I was sure of only one thing… neither of us knew what we were getting ourselves into.
It would be a lie if I said I didn't know he had a wife and two children.
Given that I was in the middle of a divorce, less than two weeks before my court hearing, when he told me he was on the same path, by my own logic I assumed things were like they were for me. He's started down that path, what else could possibly happen? At first we saw each other sporadically; he'd start his car and come over at night to see me. To spend time with me. We talked for hours on the phone. Every day. I woke up and went to bed with him. Albeit from a distance.
It was all like a drug. I didn't sleep, I didn't eat, I just counted the days until I'd see him again. I listened to his problems. I listened to the rows, I listened to his desires, his dreams. As the months went by, I realised that his situation wasn't like mine, that the hours we "stole" weren't what I needed.
When we saw each other, we hardly talked. I successfully distanced myself from my emotions for months. I was safe. So much so that I helped him choose presents for his wife and his children, and even gave him ideas to help him somehow hold his marriage together, for the sake of the two children. I kept to simple rules and did the impossible to keep things away from emotions. He marked me as his territory, he got jealous, he made scenes, and still we kept to the line. Feelings – there were none.
In September everything went wrong.
One trip, one race, one particular atmosphere, one milestone birthday and two people who shouldn't have slept in the same bed. I sacrificed my principles, I sacrificed my instinct for self-preservation and fell asleep next to him. For the first time. The race went to hell for both of us. Sleep was a mirage.
I woke up at 30, in his bed and with a new emotion before me – without realising it, I'd fallen in love with the man who'd shown me a whole new world of adventures, of fantasies, and yes. Oh, and by the way – for my birthday he gave me a key and a ring. To fit the new "me". In three months I'd thrown away all my scruples, I'd forgotten what shame means and yes, I knew what to ask for and how.
And I got it, however far I was prepared to go.
I didn't hear "no". I used to hide marks; later I stopped. I didn't care how people would look at me. I looked back at them with a smile and a clear picture of what I'd experienced, playing over and over in my head. At the end of September he told me he wanted another child, but with me.
Two hours later he called me to say he was going on a 7-day holiday with his wife to Turkey.
The pink bubble burst. It left me breathless.
I asked my question short and clear: "Do you have feelings for me?"
He denied it. But he promised me he'd be waiting for me at the finish of my next race.
He wasn't there.
And I left. With the idea that it was for ever. Obviously, though, I'd awakened his predatory instinct. And he went hunting. For me. Tooth and claw, at any cost. No matter who would suffer how much and who would pay how for his actions. He called me, he turned up outside my home, he left flowers on my car, he looked for every possible way to win me back. I held on. I didn't respond. I fought with myself, clearly aware that all of this, sooner or later, would not end well.
We ran into each other by chance in November in South Park. He grabbed me firmly with both hands and pressed me to him, restricting every attempt I made to resist. He said the great words "I love you", followed by "I can't live without you".
I didn't notice how quickly "me too" had tumbled out of my mouth. I ran away. He chased me. At the fourth kilometre, he gave up. After that moment, I started answering his calls again. Talking to him. In December he was waiting for me with a huge bouquet of red roses in the middle of the motorway. And he said he'd stay there until I came. His madness and obsession were taking on a new form. We got to the point where he simply said "I promise".
I'm a woman of my word. If I say it, I do it. He promised me that by the end of February he'd file the divorce papers and move out. My soul rejoiced. My heart was simply overflowing with emotions and plans for a "bright future". We were seeing each other again and together making plans for a life together. He asked me to help him find a place in my town. It took me less than a week.
By 17.02.2023 he already had a rental contract, a wonderful flat, and me, waiting for him. I could see the end of the whole nightmare of sleepless nights, of a man who had me and my body but went home to another woman. He'd been sleeping on the sofa for a month. Things in his home had got so strained you could cut the tension with a knife. I had an important court hearing, but he didn't come. He wasn't there when he was needed most. But he had promised. A man's word is law.
On 28.02 at 23:55 he called me. He was on the road. Waiting till the last moment, but he did it after all. He was coming here. But he didn't want to stay with me. I couldn't believe that after so many months of waiting, he didn't want to be by my side. I'd got ready, I was waiting for him impatiently. We argued and he came. Crushed – mentally, it was as if I was seeing a different person. He came, hugged me, said "I can't" and left for the flat. Those were his words. The next day, as never before, he didn't write good morning. He didn't call either. A few hours later he came. He kissed me on the forehead and said, I'm sorry, I can't any more, "I'm going back to my family", "don't forget that I will never stop loving you".
And this is where the story should have ended.
I started over. I went on a first date, things were going well for me, the guy treated me wonderfully, he spoilt me rotten. And I liked him. It flowed easily. THE man was history. I carried my pain inside me, but I'd been "broken" in so many ways that I didn't even realise what the damage was. But he didn't give up. The chase began again, the promises too. Each one grander than the last. We went through the flowers, the words and the presents again. Once again he chased me in South Park. For the umpteenth time. And every time he gave up at the fourth kilometre. Knowing full well that I loved him and that with one snap of his fingers he could bring down my relationship like a house of cards. And in the most selfish and cruellest way, he did it. Supposedly by accident. And I was alone again.
The saga dragged on for months, but this time there was no going back. His love letter is still sitting on my cabinet. Unread. He begged on his knees, setting new deadlines, telling me everything I wanted to hear. I was suffocating because of him. I couldn't tear myself away. He didn't stop. If I didn't answer the phone, he'd turn up outside my home.
September came again, the same race again, and we were both there again. With the difference that I was running away from him. He waited for me outside the restaurant, begging. Again. He ran after me down the street. Seen from the outside, the situation even looked comically crazy. He kept telling me how much he loved me and shouting it down the street behind me. I didn't turn round.
It got to the point where he set the divorce in motion. Still, this time I didn't dare block him everywhere, so he wouldn't come to my home again. We spoke, drily and now and then, so I could help him "as a friend" with the divorce settlement. I gave him mine. I also gave him my lawyer's details. Things were moving again, but I wasn't the same person, and certainly sober thinking was working, but hope appeared again.
What if? What if what?
At the end of 2022 he introduced me to his closest female friend, with whom he'd worked and kept in touch after he moved to work somewhere else. She and I hit it off quickly, and in the summer of 2023 we saw each other more and more often.
She was extremely pleasant company, with a great sense of humour and great eyes. We laughed together. We saw each other at that race in September too, kept each other company, talked, and at some point in October I found out that she was moving to my town too. I offered her help. Partly for her own sake, partly for his. I held out a hand. I liked her. Genuinely. We were even planning a race the two of us would go to, and we booked a room together.
Everything was going to plan, and the day before the race she came to Plovdiv. I plucked up the courage and decided to tell her that I'd had a relationship with the person closest to her, which had ended in the spring, but that I was thinking of starting it again. He was already looking for a home for us all. He knew I'd crack.
Hell opened up for me. The moment I started talking, she started crying. She sat down on the ground. Covered her face with her hands, sobbing out loud. I looked on, bewildered. I didn't understand. Stupor. I tried to calm her down so I could understand what was happening. At that moment we both realised that we'd been in a relationship with the same man. For more than a year, the story had been me, her, his wife and the two children. All living in complete delusion. She was crying; I felt relief. Once again I had no idea how this would affect me.
We called him. We told him we knew. It was all over. To consolidate our knowledge, like at school, our mutual friend showed me photos and videos of the two of them and told me stories.
It turned out that every time I'd said no, he'd gone to her. Insulting her, treating her badly and pouring all his hatred of me onto her.
She was suffering, and I could see it in every glass of alcohol she downed. I saw it in her tears. I saw it in her drive to prove to me, in as much detail as possible, what had happened. I picked up the phone and, in an icy voice and with complete composure, told him he had 24 hours to tell his wife.
For the first time I understood that the victim in this whole story was neither me, nor him, nor my friend…. but the mother of his children. Sitting at home, looking after his home, his comfort, putting up with his constant lack of attention and care.
It couldn't stay like that. I am a woman. I am a mother. I'm in this mess, but I know very well what's going on and I had a choice. She didn't, and she deserved one.
My friend snatched the phone from my hands. She asked what made me better than her. Why me.
All I heard was him saying, "she's the woman of my life, and I've never loved you. She's everything I've ever wanted as a man." At that moment our friendship was over. I knew she'd hate me for ever.
Even though it wasn't my fault. But both she and I will cope.
He went back to his wife with his tail between his legs, "to save his family". A family built on a lie, with stories of a pregnant woman waiting at home while her husband goes to bed every day with a different woman to work off his complexes. Because it wasn't enough for him. It was never enough; none of us was enough for him.
I think he hates me. And he's afraid. He changed me, turned me into himself and created such distrust in me that I don't know when I'll be able to believe again. And yes, I loved him with all my heart. But I left. And what happens after that?
The lie's legs are still long and still running from responsibility. And a woman is still sitting there suffering. Partly my fault, partly his, partly her own.
I've learnt my lesson. Have you?
Author: Anonymous
