The Boundary Of delusion

I was nineteen the first time Cole Whitfield broke me. Not with cruelty. With a single word. Why. Not did you — why. Like the answer was already settled and he just wanted the story to make sense. I told him the truth anyway. He said nothing that mattered. So I picked up my bag, walked out of his apartment, and decided that a man who trusted a rumor over two years of me wasn’t worth a correction. I spent the next two years becoming someone I actually liked. New city. Graduate program. A published paper with my name on it. I was done with Cole Whitfield in every way a person can be done. Then I walked into Seminar Room 114 and he was sitting right there, gray eyes already on the door, like some part of him knew. I sat down. I opened my notebook. I did not look up. Here’s the thing about studying how people form beliefs: you understand exactly why he believed it. That doesn’t mean you forgive it. That doesn’t mean two years of silence disappear because he’s learned how to look at you like he’s sorry. He wants a conversation. I want my degree. But the campus is small, the seminar table is round, and the boy who broke my heart at nineteen is doing everything right at twenty-one — and I’m starting to understand that composed isn’t the same thing as healed. I hate that I still know the exact sound of his voice.

I receive news of my husband being hospitalized after accidentally eating mushrooms causing hallucinations. I ignore the pain in my sprained ankle and limp to the hospital. When I enter the hospital ward, my husband sidesteps me. Instead, he excitedly throws his arms around the young woman behind me. "You're finally here, honey! I missed you so much!" The young woman gives me a challenging look. Then, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, her face red. They cling to each other and act all lovey-dovey like there's no one with them. After a while, my husband seems to realize I'm there. He scratches his head in embarrassment, looking like a young man who's just fallen in love. "Mom has done a good job in maintaining her appearance, honey. She doesn't look like she's 50 at all."

When will I see my fate? When will my dreams came true? You are my one and only wish... That will not happen... How can you recognize true love? Where did I gone wrong? Is your love deceitful? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is the story of a girl who’s fantasies and traumas begin to blend with her reality till the lines become so blurred she’s not sure which one is actually the reality

synopsis: ​"I laid everything I had at his feet: my youth, my ambition, my devotion. And how did he repay me? ​He shattered my heart. He crushed my very soul. When our unborn child died—a loss I wept tears of blood for—he blamed me entirely, washing his hands of me to start fresh, as if I were nothing but a bad memory. ​Like a soul pushed to the edge of the abyss with nothing left to lose, the Devil was there to catch me. He welcomed me. He seduced me. ​Torn between the man who stripped me of everything and the man who offers me the world, trapped between an old regret and the intoxicating pull of desire... I have finally reached the point of no return."

When we get too much involved in the act of pretending, we lose the idea of knowing the pretense of others. Isn't that how it works? We don't know the acts we do thinking good for the others even to the extent of hurting them to save them from major hurt will cause them to go through much more than we can think of. Sometimes it is not too late to correct the pretenses but sometimes it is late to amend them. Let's see whether it is too late or just in time.