My name is Emily Parker, and I live in a quiet little town near York, where the serene canals flow among the historic buildings of Yorkshire. Never did I imagine my life would turn into such a nightmare. We broke up. For four years and three months, I shared everything with him—laughter, tears, hopes. And now I’m alone, my heart shattered to pieces. You might say, “So what? People break up every day.” Yes, that’s true, but I can’t forgive him for this betrayal—it feels like a knife in the back, one he thrust with a smile.
Everything was almost perfect between us. Of course, we had our disputes, but they never escalated into big arguments. We were living harmoniously until fate dealt me a harsh blow. A personal tragedy made me start gaining weight. I wasn’t a cover girl before, but I had a neat figure. Then the pounds began to pile on, and my boyfriend—now ex, James—turned into my tormentor. He started mocking me, demeaning me, making me feel like nothing.
He wasn’t shy about making fun of me in front of others. I remember at a party with friends, having had a few drinks, he loudly joked about my “fat rolls”, pointing at my sides while everyone laughed. His drunken excuses didn’t erase the hurt—I felt crushed, pathetic. In the last few months, tears were a more frequent companion than the sunlight. He knew everything—knew the hell I was going through, knew every detail of my struggle. Yet he continued to trample over me as if I were nothing more than trash beneath his feet. Each jab he made compounded my troubles, made them heavier, more unbearable.
One morning, I couldn’t take it anymore. My chest was tight with resentment, tears choked me, and I blurted out, “Leave!” He didn’t even flinch—almost as if he had been anticipating this moment. He silently gathered his things, slammed the door, and vanished. After four years, he left me alone—writhing in agony, drowning in my problems. I was left with an emptiness in my soul and unanswered questions. Perhaps there was someone else? I never noticed anything obvious, no calls, no secret meetings. But maybe he already found someone new—slender, beautiful, not like me, heavier and broken?
I’m not looking for your advice, nor your pity. I’m just pouring out this pain that burns me from the inside like molten iron. James shattered not only my love but also my self-confidence. Every look of disdain, every word about my weight, is etched in my memory like scars. I will never forget how he laughed at me in front of strangers, how he looked at me with contempt, as if I stopped being a woman in his eyes. He knew I was battling inner demons, but instead of support, he pushed me further into the mud. And he left, not looking back, leaving me in this hell.
Sometimes I picture him with someone else—with someone as light as air, with a tiny waist and a bright laugh. Maybe he longed for this while I was gaining weight from stress and tears? This thought gnaws at me at night, but I don’t want to know the truth—it would only crush me more. For four years, I gave him everything—love, warmth, my soul—and he wiped his feet on me, moving on to a new life. I’m left alone, with the extra weight, the burden of resentment, with the feeling that I’m not even worthy of an ounce of happiness.
But I will endure. I know I can get through this too. Through the tears, through the pain, I will find the strength to rise again. Every day I look in the mirror and hate the reflection—not because of the pounds, but because I allowed him to break me like this. He’s gone, and I’m left to fight—with myself, with the past, with his voice in my head that still whispers: “You’re worth nothing.” I pray for only one thing: let this hell end soon. Let the wounds heal, let me feel alive again. I won’t forgive him, but I will survive his betrayal—for my own sake.
