I remember that day clearly—our wedding day, supposed to be the happiest moment. My parents were busy preparing since my fiancé, Arlen, had no family involved. But my dad never trusted him, thinking Arlen was after my money.
The ceremony was delayed, and I hadn’t seen Arlen all day. When two police officers approached me with his photo, my heart sank. They told me he’d been arrested that morning in a fraud case involving multiple fake identities. I was shocked—Arlen seemed so genuine, charming, like he truly cared.
After the police left, I felt numb. Then I got a call from another woman, Marissa, who’d also been fooled by Arlen. She thought she was marrying him too. It turned out Arlen had lied to multiple women, hiding debts and false stories.
While sorting our stuff, I found a box of his old photos and letters, including one with a little girl named “Livi.” I never found out who she was, but that box showed a glimpse of someone lost beneath the lies.
A month later, I gave everything to the police and took a solo trip to a quiet cabin. It helped me realize that believing in love isn’t foolish—it’s trusting someone who can’t be honest. I’m not fully healed, but I’m rebuilding.
To anyone betrayed, healing doesn’t happen overnight, but it does happen—piece by piece.
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