title: A Letter to My Ex: Joel, you chose a one-night stand over us
Every heartbreak has a story. “Letter to My Ex” invites you into the reflective hearts of people who’ve loved, lost, and grown—offering gentle truths, bold lessons, and encouragement for anyone navigating the aftermath of a relationship. These weekly letters are full of grace and grit, showing how endings shape wisdom and how the past still holds power to teach. From understanding closure to embracing self-love, each piece is a tribute to growth through love, loss, and lived experience.
Edna (*not her real name), a nurse, pens this week’s heartfelt Letter to My Ex
You could have just left me alone, Joel. You didn’t have to pull me into that temporary warmth, that fragile bond dressed up as hope. I was minding my own business that afternoon in the campus canteen, eating quietly, living quietly, when you walked up to me.
You said you loved my vibe. That you’d been noticing me for a while. That you wanted us to be friends.
I didn’t resist. In fact, I was happy. Friendship felt simple, harmless… safe.
And just like that, we slipped into each other’s daily lives. We walked together, lingered in long conversations, and texted until midnight. It was strange, almost magical, how naturally everything flowed.
Same humour, same interests, same little quirks. Talking to you felt like leaning into sunlight. I found myself looking forward to seeing you in class the next morning.
You helped me with assignments. We explored places together with the little pocket money our parents gave us. We grew into each other’s routines and didn’t even notice when friendship stopped being just friendship.
We graduated, God, I still remember our photoshoot, and suddenly there was no campus, no library deadlines, just two jobless dreamers sending each other links and hope. We dropped CVs together and encouraged each other through rejection after rejection. Somewhere in that season of uncertainty, you asked me to be your girlfriend.
I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t care that we were both broke, both tarmacking, both figuring out adulthood through guesswork. I was thrilled… dating my friend. People always say, “Date your friend, it will be beautiful.” And honestly, it was.
Our relationship was small, simple, and full of butterflies. Cheap dates. Shared snacks. Weekend visits. Peace. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. You gave me no reason to doubt you, and I built a quiet future in my mind — a home, children, property, a life that looked steady.
Then the day I never saw coming arrived.
You didn’t go cold all at once; you dimmed gradually. The texts became shorter. The calls fewer. Days slipped into weeks without seeing you. Every time I asked, you said everything was fine, but everything felt wrong. I tried to match your energy, to become as distant as you had become, but love makes fools of us. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t care.
Then one day, you said you needed to talk.
My heart believed you were ready to open up, maybe about stress, or life, or something heavy you were carrying. I was hopeful. Hopeful enough to show up.
And then you broke me.
“I impregnated a girl… that’s why I’ve been acting like this. Babe, it was a one-night stand. Please forgive me.”
The words hit me like cold metal. I remember staring at you, stunned into silence. Tears streamed without permission. My entire body felt numb. I couldn’t speak. I just walked away.
I cried the entire way home, my vision blurred, my chest tight, my mind replaying your words like a cruel echo.
I kept asking myself what I had done to deserve that kind of betrayal. That kind of carelessness with my heart. You kept calling, but what was there left to say? You had sold me a future I believed in with my whole heart, only to set it on fire behind my back.
For days, I stayed indoors. Grief sat on my chest like a stone.
Was I the problem? Was I not enough? Should I forgive you? Was it truly a mistake?
The questions clawed at me relentlessly. Part of me wanted to forgive you, but the truth was louder than my hope; you were now tied to someone else’s life, a bond that would never fade, never pause, never disappear.
So I sat with my pain. And slowly, painfully, I told myself the truth I had been resisting: maybe letting go was the only way forward. Maybe we were not meant to last. Maybe what we had had served its purpose. Maybe the future I imagined was only mine, not ours.
And when I finally accepted that, the tears stopped.
I blocked you. I let myself heal. And I let you go.
Today, I hold no bitterness, only lessons. I forgave you so I wouldn’t carry wounds that belonged to you. But I hope you never do to another heart what you did to mine. If you cannot stay faithful, stay single. And if you cannot love honestly, at least have the courage to leave people whole, not in pieces.
Everyone has a story about love, loss, or heartbreak worth sharing. If you’ve ever wanted to say the things you couldn’t—apologies, closure, gratitude, or truths—to someone from your past, we invite you to write to us. Your real, heartfelt letter might offer healing or understanding to someone else who has been through something similar. You may remain anonymous if you prefer, but your words matter. We don’t pay contributors, but we believe in the power of shared experiences and emotional honesty. Join us in creating a collection of letters that explore love, lessons, and letting go. Be part of this movement.
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