By the second week, I wasn’t numb anymore… but I wasn’t grounded either.

I was floating in this strange in-between space—caught between the wreckage of what was and the denial of what was coming. I had cried the first week. I had begged, pleaded, rationalized, spiraled. But Week Two? This was when it all began to sink in.

This is the week I cracked.
The week I bent so far I didn’t know if I’d ever fully stand back up again.

But I wasn’t broken.
And if you’re in your own Week Two, I want you to know—you’re not either.

He Said She Was His Soulmate

There are words that cut.
And then there are words that gut you.

For me, that word was soulmate.

We were sitting on the back porch. He had come over to talk—said we needed to figure things out. And I thought maybe, just maybe, this would be the moment he apologized. That he would come clean. That he would fight for what we had.

But instead, he told me he had found his soulmate.

Not just that he had feelings for her. Not just that it was an affair.

But that she was the one.

After 24 years. After three children. After building a business, a family, a life.
He looked me in the eyes and told me he had found the person who was meant for him—someone else.

That word cracked something in me I didn’t know could splinter.

It wasn’t just betrayal—it felt like everything we had built together had been wiped away.

The Conversation That Shattered Me

That porch talk was one of the hardest moments I’ve ever lived through.

He told me I had become complacent. That I had stopped trying. That I didn’t care about the way I looked. That I didn’t make him feel wanted or appreciated. That I didn’t put effort into our marriage.

Some of it was true.
I had lost myself—in motherhood, in the daily grind, in grief after my dad passed. But instead of reaching out, instead of fighting with me for us, he chose someone else.

And then he said it:

“I love you. But I’m not in love with you.”

Those words… they hit like a freight train.
Not because I hadn’t feared them. But because hearing them confirmed the one thing I had been trying so hard to deny—he was already gone.

Still Hoping… Still Holding On

Even after all that, I still wanted him.

It sounds crazy, I know. But if you’ve been there, you understand. You’re not thinking clearly. You’re thinking about your kids. Your life. Your history. You’re thinking, Maybe this is just a midlife crisis. Maybe he’ll come back.

I was clinging to any breadcrumb he gave me.
A text. A check-in. A little bit of guilt.

“I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have,” he said.

But while he said that to me…
He was already staying in hotel rooms with her.
Ordering pizza.
Playing house.

And I was home, trying to survive.
Trying to hold onto my dignity.
Trying to explain to my boys why their dad wasn’t there for dinner.

From Blame to Betrayal

That week, the stories shifted.

He blamed her at first—said she came on strong, that she pursued him, that it didn’t start the first day because she wasn’t there, but the second? That’s when it began.

And then he’d change the story. Backtrack. Rewrite the timeline.

I didn’t know what to believe.
I didn’t know who he was anymore.
And I didn’t know who I was either.

He blamed me.
He blamed her.
He blamed the life we built.

And me? I blamed myself too.
For not seeing it.
For still wanting him.
For believing that maybe… just maybe… he’d come back.

What Betrayal Does to You

Betrayal is not just about someone else’s actions—it’s about how those actions rip your identity apart.

It fractures your trust in others.
In yourself.
In what was real.

You start to question everything.
Did he ever love me?
Was any of it real?
How did I not see this?

You find yourself texting him, angry and crying one minute… and then begging for honesty the next.

I remember texting him two totally different things on the same day.

Because I didn’t know which version of him I was talking to.
And I didn’t know which version of me I was becoming.

To the Woman in Her Own Week Two

If you're in it right now—if your stomach drops every time your phone buzzes, if you're crying in your room and putting on a brave face for your kids, if you're torn between anger and hope…

Let me say this:

You are not replaceable.
You are not disposable.
You are not to blame.

Even if he left.
Even if he said it was your fault.
Even if he tried to convince you she was better.
Even if he called her his soulmate.

You are still enough.
Still worthy.
Still lovable.

What I Know Now

Looking back, I know I couldn’t have stayed. Even though I wanted to. Even though I thought I needed him. Even though I believed our love story wasn’t over.

But I see now—that wasn’t love.

That was fear.
That was survival mode.
That was me trying to hold on to a version of life that no longer existed.

Letting go wasn’t about him.
It was about me.
And choosing me—slowly, painfully, day by day.

You don’t have to be strong all the time.
You can cry.
You can yell.
You can fall apart.

But eventually—you will rise.

Even cracked.
Even bent.
Even hurting.

Because broken?
You never were.

Final Words

Week Two is where my grief hit different.
But it was also the week I started to come back to myself.

If you're there right now—please know, you're not alone. I see you. I was you.

And even in the fog, even in the pain—your healing has already begun.

🩵
You are strong.
You are worthy.
And your story matters.

Until next time…
Take care of you. 

💗 Jenny