It’s been seven years of planning a wedding with the man I thought was my forever, only to find he betrayed me.
My name is Katherine Morris, and I live in Norwich, where the gentle River Wensum winds past charming old houses. My story might seem simple to you, yet it tears my heart apart. I was preparing to marry the man I believed to be my destiny, but his betrayal left me unable to breathe without pain.
I met James seven years ago. We never had a single argument, not a day passed without warmth and mutual respect. We were like two halves of a whole. Four months in, I moved into his home because we both wanted to be closer, not to waste a moment apart. Together, we forged countless memories, which I’ll carry in my heart for the rest of my life. Sometimes we played like children, laughing and hiding from each other as a joke. Other times, we loved each other with such passion, as if there was no tomorrow—intensely, to the point of tears of joy.
I had never felt anything like this with anyone else. James was my everything—strong, gentle, the one in whose arms I wanted to fall asleep and wake up every day of my life. August 8th became a day I will never forget. He woke me with breakfast in bed—warm croissants, fragrant coffee, his smile. We made love slowly, as if time had stopped. We were on holiday, savoring freedom and each other. We spent a week in Cornwall—sea, sun, sunsets that felt magical. Everything was like a fairy tale.
That day, while he was in the bathroom, someone knocked at the door. I opened it—a stranger with a smile handed me a bouquet of crimson roses and a note: “I love you. J.” My heart raced with joy. I thanked James for the surprise, kissed him, and we headed to the beach. But it was just the beginning. Downstairs at the reception, another man handed me a rose. As we walked to the sea, six more people gave me flowers. By the time we reached the beach, I had a bouquet of seven roses—one for each year of our love. James just smiled and winked, “Wanted to surprise you.” We spent the day by the water, and as the sun set, we waded into the sea, kissing under the sound of the waves. Suddenly, he knelt in the water: “Kate, will you be my wife?” I was breathless with happiness, tears streamed down my cheeks, my legs trembled. “Yes!” I shouted, and the world spun in a dance.
Everything was fine until December. Just before Christmas, he went on a business trip to another city. He returned a week later—distant, cold, with a dull gaze. I spent three days trying to understand what had happened, but he was silent as a stone. Finally, he broke down and confessed: he’d had an affair with a colleague. They drank, relaxed, and “it just happened.” My world collapsed. This man, who swore I was his universe, who held me like I was the only one in the world, had betrayed me. It felt like a stab in the back. I cried, and he did too—tears streamed down his face, but they meant nothing.
The next day I packed my bags and left. He begged me to stay, clung to my hands, shouted that he loved me, that it was a mistake. But I couldn’t—inside, everything had died. I slammed the door and vanished from his life. Then came the calls, long conversations, his tears, and mine. But the pain wouldn’t go away—the betrayal burned like red-hot iron. I still love him—so much that my heart tears apart. But when I remember what he did, the tears choke me, and love mixes with hatred. We’ve seen each other three times since the breakup. Each time I want to run to him, hug him, kiss him, but I stop myself. I can’t. It’s like a poison I can’t swallow.
I want to return to him—to the days when he was my hero. But I’m afraid he’ll break my heart again. This wound bleeds, and I don’t know how to heal it. I walk the streets of Norwich, see couples holding hands, and feel like an empty shell. He was my everything, and now I’m alone, with this love that chokes me and with this betrayal that won’t let go. Please, help me with some advice. I need to hear someone else’s perspective, to understand what to do. Should I leave him in the past or give him another chance? The pain is unbearable, and I’m drowning in it without seeing the shore. What should I do with this love that has become my torment?
