HE LOVED ME WHILE LOVING HER

The Woman Who Never Left

At first, Damien was sweet outside the bedroom.

He called me every morning. Sent long messages about how special I was. Told me I was different from any woman he had ever met.

But there was always one name that came up.

Vanessa.

“She’s my past,” he said one evening. “She refuses to move on. Always calling, begging, stalking me.”

I hated her without knowing her.

Sometimes, when his phone rang and he saw her name, his face would tighten.

“I’ll block her,” he promised.

He never did.

Our relationship became a strange balance of affection and pain.

Outside, he was gentle. Inside the room, he was someone else.

Every time we were intimate, it felt violent. There was no tenderness, no slow kisses, no whispering of love. Only rough movements, sharp grips, and silence.

Sometimes I cried during it.

Sometimes he didn’t notice.

Sometimes he noticed and didn’t stop.

Afterward, I would hide in the bathroom, staring at new bruises blooming on my skin like purple flowers.

One afternoon, months later, the truth slipped out by accident.

Damien left his phone on the bed while he went to shower.

It buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

I didn’t mean to look.

But the screen lit up.

Vanessa ❤️

I miss you.

Last night meant everything to me.

When will you come back?

My hands started shaking so badly the phone almost fell.

When he came out, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, tears running down my face, the phone in my hands.

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t deny it.

He fell to his knees in front of me and started crying.

“I was weak,” he said. “She means nothing. I swear, Liana, you’re the one I love.”

He kissed my bruises.

Promised he would change.

That night, for the first time, he touched me gently.

And I stayed.