Courtesy of Nadine Robinson
In the fall of 2019, a man I didn't know sent me a friend request on Facebook. Usually, I delete messages from total strangers. But I was single and feeling insecure and lonely after a bad breakup. Our chat about fitness and nutrition turned into a fling.
One day, after a particularly steamy encounter, he commented about his upcoming birthday. He said he'd be turning 30 next week and felt so old. I almost choked on my spit as I tried to process the fact that meant he was 19 years younger than me. How had we never discussed age?
Things remained casual for over a year until I committed to seeing only him, as he assured me that he was 100% mine.
That was until I learned the truth, and he brought me to my new best friend.
When we were together, everything was great. When we weren't, communication was hit-and-miss. I found myself crying more than smiling.
Once, he was three hours late for our Valentine's dinner date at my house, and I believed the excuses for his silence: "I left my phone in the car," "My phone died," or "I was out of the service area.
In September 2022, a random conversation with his mother became a grenade when she casually mentioned his new girlfriend. She didn't know we were an item; he had asked me not to tell her, so she assumed I was only his friend.
Hours later, I emerged from my daze. I finally told his mom that we had been dating for two years but that I was done. His mother gave me the other woman's number.
I took her phone number and held my breath as I dialed — not knowing what to expect. The conversation was a bit awkward at first, as neither of us knew where to start. There were stunned moments of silence, laughter, and tears. We both kept muttering the words: "How could I have been so stupid?"
We both thought we were the only one in his life. We both had received the exact same Thanksgiving text. We had been with him within hours of each other on multiple occasions.
We met and went for a hike. We had similar features and body types, were educated, and had dry senses of humor. We talked multiple times a day, cutting our therapy bills by thousands of dollars since we were able to validate each other and unravel the lies from the previous two years. Case in point, I learned that he had not been out of cell range; he had been with her on Valentine's Day when I was trying to keep our dinner warm for three hours.
People raised an eyebrow when they heard that we were friends. "Isn't that weird?" they'd ask. It really wasn't so strange. After all, there was a reason he picked both of us: He had a type, and we weren't dissimilar. There was also now a trauma bond between us, and we tried to sort through our disbelief and pain together.
This year, we celebrated Valentine's Day together on a tropical vacation. We still workout together and talk daily. It's not about him anymore, as we recognize that we were both victims of an elaborate emotional con.
We reflect on how far we've come, having picked up the pieces of distrust and lies. We have constructed new, healthier paths forward for ourselves.
Our silver lining is that we now have each other — even if the way we met was through him.
