The Fire

He didn’t hide his phone. That’s what made it confusing.

I’ve written a lot about what happened in the relationship I was in—the one that exploded into a web of lies, manipulation, and psychological and emotional abuse six days after my dad died. I’ve written about the war I didn’t know I was fighting. The poison he brought to the party. How much I loved him and his dogs. The pain of being replaced so quickly. The expensive gifts. The moment of discovery. All of that writing helped me process the what the fuck happened and how will

Everyone trusted him. That was the point.

What lingers isn’t love—it’s the realization of how much I was lied to.

December 30, 2025 It is unsettling to me that even now—months later—conversations still surface in the most unexpected places, with unexpected people, about the man I once loved deeply. Conversations I don't start, but somehow always find me. Not conversations fueled by drama or emotion. But quiet, matter-of-fact acknowledgments from people on the periphery—people who knew him through brief interactions, professional encounters, or community proximity—and who clocked early on

This wasn’t grief. It was recognition.

I found something I wrote in May—and it reminded me just how fiercely I saved myself.

Sometimes brutality doesn't come from a person. It comes from circumstance.

This is not typical Katherine behavior, and that’s exactly the point.

Well, shit. This was terrible.

Just days after my dad died, and days before my reality exploded, I sent him a message soaked in love and longing. I never imagined the truths I was about to uncover would change everything.

For a long time, I thought it was me. Too emotional. Too sensitive. Too needy. But now I know the truth: I was drafted into a war I didn’t know existed. What I brought was love, belief, and open-hearted hope. What I received was betrayal. I didn’t deserve a war. No one does.

This wasn’t just heartbreak, it was psychological warfare. I didn’t survive it with grace or ease. I survived it breath by breath, scream by scream, learning to let the fire burn through everything false until only truth remained. This is what it looked like to live through the pain and come out the other side.

He replaced me before the truth even surfaced. But the pain didn’t mean I wasn’t worthy. It just meant I loved deeply. And now, I choose me.

Detaching from him wasn’t just emotional. It was physical. Cellular. A full-body purge of a connection I once thought was love. This is what detoxing from a trauma bond really felt like.

He whispered warmth and safety into my heart, all while living a lie. When the truth surfaced, my reality detonated. This is what it felt like in the wreckage.

He wasn’t hungry for love. He was hungry for power and supply. And I, soft and sacred, became his feast.

What started as love became something else entirely. This is the story of the war I didn’t know I was in, the truth that exposed it, and the power I reclaimed in the aftermath.

He brought poison. I brought fire. This is the story of how I set it down and finally walked away.