We went to Mexico to relax and reconnect. I asked him to take a photo of me at the beach — just a simple picture.He looked at me and said, “I’m not in the mood.”
I felt small. Embarrassed. Hurt.
But something felt off. He kept hiding his phone. So, while he was in the shower, I looked. What I found broke me.In a group chat with his friends, he wrote:
“Imagine, guys… at her weight, she still wants me to take pictures of her. Where would she even fit in the photo? She hasn’t been the same since giving birth.”
I couldn’t breathe.
This was the man who held my hand in the delivery room. The man who once told me I was beautiful every day.I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry.
I got up the next morning, dressed in my favorite outfit, walked down to the beach alone… and asked a kind stranger to take my photo.
Then I posted it on Facebook with the caption:
“Learning to love myself again — one photo at a time.”The comments poured in. Friends. Family. Even strangers.
“You’re glowing.”
“So strong.”
“You deserve better.”When he saw it — and the wave of support behind me — he said nothing. He just sat there, eyes red.
Sometimes, revenge isn’t loud. It’s you, finally choosing yourself.