I’ve lost true love for a pretty facade — and now I’m paying for my mistake.
They say each person is the architect of their own misfortune. And, you know, I’m a prime example of that. Everything that’s happened to me is of my own making. Not fate, nor bad luck, nor interference from others. Just my blindness, arrogance, and naive infatuation with the superficial, not the essence.
My name is Robert. I’m from Birmingham. I’m 38 now and have been in a marriage for three years, which has proved more of a test than a joy. And yet, once, I thought I’d caught hold of happiness.
Back then, I was 32, living independently, with a solid career, two flats inherited from my grandmother, and a small shop that I rented out. My parents had long since moved to a house in the countryside, while I enjoyed single life, convinced that soon I’d meet “the one.”
I always dreamed of a wife with a magazine cover appearance: tall, with a doll-like figure, shiny hair, and impeccable makeup. I believed such a woman was a key to my success and the envy of those around me.
Meanwhile, I had Nina by my side — my best friend. Intelligent, kind, with a gentle sense of humor, always knowing how to support me. We would often go for walks, have heart-to-heart talks, and occasionally she’d stay over after parties. I took it for granted. She was just a good friend to me. It didn’t occur to me that it might mean more to her.
Then, one day, while on a ski trip with friends in the Lake District, I met her — Laura. Tall, striking, with plumped lips, long nails, and golden hair down to her waist. She looked exactly like the “ideal wife” I had imagined.
For a week, we barely skied, spending more time lounging in the room, drinking, laughing, and flirting. In a peak of drunken euphoria, like a fool, I proposed to her. Yes, right in the hotel room, with a sleepy voice and a glass of champagne in hand.
Laura, upon learning about my properties, business, and family, merely smiled modestly and nodded. Within days, she had moved in with me.
When I told Nina, she was shocked. Calm and devoid of drama, she said, “Rob, you rushed into this. Holiday romances rarely thrive on love. Try to get to know her better.”
I was furious. I accused her of being jealous. I didn’t even invite her to the wedding. I thought she was just upset that I’d chosen someone else over her.
Very soon, my dream-like fantasy crumbled like a house of cards.
First, Laura wouldn’t let me touch her chest: “I have implants. You can’t squish them.”
Next, it turned out she couldn’t cook at all — she’d even forget to turn on the kettle. Salads? No. Dinner? No. Dusting? Never. I did it all, while my mum brought us food in containers.
Laura frequented salons, spas, and shopping trips as if it were a job. She spent my money like it was a game of Monopoly.
When I mentioned having kids, she coldly replied, “Are you crazy? My body is my investment. Not for another ten years.”
We didn’t communicate — we existed. Anything I talked about, she either didn’t understand or pretended to find boring. She had her topics: nails, waxing, Instagram stories. I had loneliness.
And so I turned to Nina again. I sought warmth, conversation, understanding. She listened, encouraged, made jokes, and tried to restore my confidence. I confided in her, poured out my soul, and she was simply there for me.
But one day, she told me she was getting married. To my acquaintance, David.
“I love you, Rob,” she said. “I always have. But I’m tired of waiting. And with David, even without passion, I will have peace. And sometimes that, believe me, is far more important.”
Then I understood everything. Everything I’d lost. Everything I’d ruined with my own hands.
I could have been with someone who would be a partner, a true friend, a wife, a mother to my children. But I chose a doll. A wrapper with no substance.
Now, I live in a beautiful cage, alongside a woman who feels like a stranger. I don’t know how long this charade will last. But I know with certainty: I’ve lost Nina forever. And that is my greatest regret.
If you’re reading this and there is someone by your side who understands, supports, and cherishes you — don’t let them go. Don’t trade the genuine for the glossy. Because one day you might wake up in silk sheets… and feel the emptiness around you.
