The Story:
Ten years ago, my life imploded. My husband of fifteen years, Mark, sat me down and told me he was in love with someone else. That someone else was my college roommate, Sarah.
The betrayal broke me. I lost my husband and my best friend in a single afternoon.
For a decade, I let the anger, hurt, and betrayal consume me. I stalked their social media. I threw darts at their pictures. I badmouthed them to anyone who would listen. They were living rent-free in my heart, poisoning every new relationship I tried to start.
Yesterday, Mark died. A sudden heart attack.
Sarah called me, sobbing. She had no one else. The “friends” they had made together were fair-weather, and his family had sided with me years ago. She asked if I would come to the funeral.
My first instinct was to laugh in her face. To tell her she deserved this pain. To tell her that karma had finally come to collect.
But then I looked in the mirror. I saw the lines of bitterness etched into my face. I realized that my hatred hadn’t punished them—it had only punished me. I had spent ten years carrying a bag of rocks while they lived their lives.
I went to the funeral. I walked up to Sarah, who flinched, expecting a slap or a scream. Instead, I simply nodded at her.
“I forgive you,” I said quietly.
She collapsed into tears, looking at me like I was a saint. I didn’t stay to comfort her. I didn’t do it for her.
Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself before anyone else. Saying those words didn’t erase the past or make the wrong feel right. But as I drove away from the cemetery, the heavy weight on my chest that had been there for ten years was finally gone. I had finally freed my spirit and reclaimed my peace, my power, and my ability to love without chains.
