I lost a boyfriend who had barely become an ex. He died shortly after we broke up. Since that day, I have lived in a room crowded with questions that refuse to leave. They are long, heavy questions that burn in my chest. I cannot sleep without trying to answer at least one.

In this stillness, I have finally learned what peace truly means. You only recognize it once it has been stolen for so long that your “normal” is a war zone.

I carry two conflicting feelings about his death because of who he was. I am happy he is not coming to finish what he started with me; I am sad that he didn’t get to apologse properly to me. When he was my boyfriend, I built my entire life around him. I offered my heart, my time, and everything I owned. I gave it all freely. He was my love.

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

Our arguments started like any other couple, but they soon spiralled. Every week, I found myself apologizing for the smallest things. I said sorry for not picking up his call on the first ring. I said sorry for taking three minutes to reply to a text. He would come over and block my male friends on my phone, calling them distractions to our relationship.

When my salary arrived, it was gone by the third week. He controlled my spending and loved when I spent it on him. He demanded my mobile money password, yet I couldn’t touch his phone without a fight. He depended on me for everything: food, haircuts, even his pomade. When he was kind, it usually meant the month was ending and my paycheck was almost there.I felt less like a partner and more like a source.

Then, the hitting started. It happened without provocation, sometimes at the least provocation. He told me it was to “set my brain” in case I thought of doing something foolish. He was a mean man, but I was so deep in love that I ignored the voices in my head telling me to run. I stayed. I told myself I was praying for him. I told myself he would change because nothing is impossible for God.

We finally broke up the day he slapped me in front of a friend. That blow hit my eye and magically opened it. I saw exactly what my life would become if I let him lure me back. The irony? He hit me because he was sleeping with my friend’s girlfriend and assumed I was doing the same.

After that, I felt a strange relief, but I still missed him. I missed the person I thought he was. I even missed the cycle of abuse because he would apologize so sweetly before the monster returned.

The silence that followed was heavy. In the evenings, I lay awake, certain that a broken heart would actually kill me. So, the day he returned to apologize, I didn’t hesitate. I jumped to hug him and told him he was forgiven, that we could try again.

“I have changed,” he promised me. “I am working on myself. I am a changed man.”

Nothing changed. He remained the same mean, self-absorbed man, but at least I had him. At least the heartbreak wasn’t trying to kill me anymore.

Then, out of nowhere, he ghosted me. He stopped answering my calls and never returned them.

Five days before he passed, he called me. I saw the notifications, but I didn’t pick up. I didn’t call back. I was hurt, tired, and angry. I thought it was the same old pattern—him reaching out only when it suited him. I didn’t know that while I was holding onto my pain, he was fighting for his life. I promise I didn’t know.

What Nobody Tells You About Divorce

That is why guilt haunts me. That is why questions plague my mind and why I feel two ways about his passing. But deep down, I know the truth. I did not ignore a loving, caring man. I responded to a pattern of hurt and neglect. I reacted the way anyone who has been constantly broken would react. I am not the reason he lived the life he chose, and I am not the reason he is gone.

I loved him the best way I knew how. I gave more than I received and stayed longer than I should have. Even in my anger, I was only protecting a heart that had been bruised too many times.

I am trying, day by day, to forgive myself. I am learning to let go of the weight. I am grieving, but I am also releasing myself from a guilt I do not deserve.

—Martina

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.

#SB<>