The Cards, The Promises, And the Reality
It’s a bitterly cold day on the south coast of England. Rain lashes against the windows, the wind howls relentlessly, and wild waves crash just fifty metres from my home. From the comfort of my living room, where the temperature is a cosy 20 degrees, I watch the British weather rage outside. Yet despite the grey clouds hanging low on the horizon, it is Valentine’s Day – a day traditionally filled with love, warmth, and happiness.
On this very special day, ten years ago, I received my very first Valentine’s card.
And on this special day, it is also one year since I published BURNING DESIRE: The Psychopath and the Girl in Black Prada Shoes – Part 1.
There was nothing more wonderful than believing my beloved’s words came from his heart. His expressions of affection made me feel cherished and special.
During the first six months of our relationship, while we were still in the honeymoon phase, he sent me six beautiful Valentine’s e-cards. I was ecstatic. His enthusiasm, romantic gestures, and constant love letters made me feel deeply loved.
In my euphoric state, I truly wanted to be his Valentine forever. I imagined us sitting beneath the tree of love, holding hands, sharing kisses, and building a future together.
What I did not know at the time was that my boyfriend possessed a deeply troubled side. Yet alongside it seemed to exist a loving and caring man whose romantic words and affectionate gestures convinced me that his feelings were genuine. That glimpse of warmth made me believe he had a sincere and heartfelt soul.
I truly believed he loved me with all his heart. I believed he wanted me to be his one and only Valentine, not only that year but every year thereafter.
I loved him unconditionally. He appeared in my life at a time when I was vulnerable and struggling, and he gave me hope when I needed it most. He called me ‘baby’, ‘little girl’, ‘MM’, and many other sweet nicknames. At the time, I found it endearing.
Unfortunately, the happy ending would not last forever.
Although he never physically struck me, the emotional blows could feel just as painful. Time and again, he reassured me, ‘Trust me. I love only you.’ Yet many of his actions left wounds that lingered far longer than any physical bruise ever could.
Sometimes I wonder whether any of it was worth the price I paid. Looking back, it often felt as though he systematically dismantled my confidence, piece by piece, year after year.
I tried to hold on to my courage and maintain a positive outlook. I searched constantly for peace within the relationship and believed that if I loved hard enough, things would eventually improve. In doing so, I paid a far greater price than I ever anticipated.
I am only human. Like everyone else, I want to love and be loved, to trust, and to treat others with kindness and respect. There is nothing extraordinary in that. It is simply part of being human.
