My girlfriend admitted she cheated. «I needed a real man,» She smirked. My friends took her side. I just smiled, took my keys—and left. This morning, my phone blew up with 32 missed calls…

But please, just say something. I miss who we were. I miss who I was with you.

The part that hit me most? Not the begging. Not the regret. It was the phrase, who I was with you.

Because that’s what hurt the most, didn’t it? She didn’t lose me. She lost the version of herself that existed when I believed in her. And that? She was never getting back.

I typed. Slowly no anger. No theatrics.

Just clarity. Me. You didn’t just choose someone else.

You celebrated humiliating me. You made it a show. And when I left, I didn’t just walk away from the relationship.

I walked away from the person who thought I wasn’t enough. I’m not angry. I’m not bitter.

I’m just done. Take care of yourself. Then I blocked her number.

Final closure. I didn’t wait for a reply. Because the best kind of revenge isn’t about breaking them.

It’s about becoming so unshakably whole, they can’t even picture themselves in your life anymore. And while they spin in regret, you sleep. Peacefully.

Because revenge isn’t always about fire. Sometimes it’s just never looking back. Was this revenge justified? Or was it something more?