My former boyfriend always kept me hidden from his friends, insisting that I wasnt on his level. I knew this from the start, yet I stayed. He came from a wealthy family in a sleepy English townhis father owned a string of successful businesses, his mother never worked, and they lived in a grand Georgian house with a shiny new Jaguar parked outside. I grew up in a modest estate, worked as a cashier at the local supermarket, and helped my mum with bills. We met in a bustling café when I was picking up a cup of tea before my shift. He started ringing me up, sending texts, inviting me out.
In the beginning, everything seemed lovely, but oddly off-kilter. He never took me to the places where his friends gathered. Instead, he chose out-of-the-way and quiet spotsplaces where hardly anyone recognised us. When we wandered through the high street and bumped into someone I knew, hed drop my hand at once and say, Lets walk this way. I asked him why, and he replied, My mates are terribly judgemental. I dont want to be fodder for gossip. I swallowed that explanation.
The first time I truly understood was at a party. He invited me, so I dressed nicely in a simple but elegant dress. The moment we entered, he whispered, Stay by the bar; Ill greet some friends. Twenty minutes passed. Then forty. I watched him from afar, laughing, posing for photos, hugging people. He didnt introduce me to a soul. When I approached, he put out a hand and said, Wait outside for a moment. Out in the cold street, he said, There are important people here. I dont want any awkwardness.
Over time, his comments became increasingly sharp and painful. He said I spoke too common, that I had to change my style, and that he wouldnt post pictures of us together on social media because his family were very particular. He never brought me to his home. I never met his parents. When I invited him to my mums birthday, he made excuseswork, car troubles, tiredness. Yet, whenever events happened in his circle, he disappeared for the whole weekend.
One day, I asked him straight out: Are you ashamed to be seen with me? He was silent for a few seconds, then said, Its not shame were just from different worlds. Youre a good person, but my friends are on another plane. I dont want to be judged. That phrase cracked something inside me. I asked, And are you allowed to judge me? He just shrugged.
The worst moment was spotting photos on his social medialaughing with a colleague, the daughter of a well-known solicitor in town. Posh restaurants, glittering events, smiles, tags. He posed proudly with her. For me, there was nothing. When I asked, he said she was just a friend. We argued bitterly. I told him I wouldnt be his secret anymore. He replied, If you dont like how things are, then its over.
And so, it ended. We parted ways right there. I walked alone for several streets, tears running down my cheeks. A week later, he was official with herthe solicitors daughter. I went back to my work, still seeing his photos of elegant clothes, holidays, and dinners. He never apologised. Never admitted hed hurt me.
Today, I know I spent a year as the girl no one was meant to see. The one who existed only behind closed doors. The one not good enough for the group photo. And thats not easily erased.
