PERIOD.

Every year on this day, I wake up with a little bit of a cloud over me. It’s like my heart remembers before my mind even catches up. I’m better than I was last year. I’ve done so much healing. But today… is still a blah day.

Six years ago, it started off so normal. We went to Family Autism Day at the putt-putt course and had a great time. We laughed, took pictures, then went to lunch at Tacoholics. It felt like such a good day. We got home, and my husband laid down for a nap—he was working third shift at the time, so that was normal too. I remember grabbing his phone to post our pictures from the day. That’s when everything changed.

There it was. A screenshot in his gallery from a woman with an overly filtered photo and a name on Facebook that read “Miss America.” Insert eye roll. She wasn’t Miss America. She was Miss Hoemerica. And he had taken a screenshot of a message from her.

I looked through his Facebook. Messages—gone. Trash folder—full of deleted things he didn’t even know were still there. And right then, I knew.

I woke him up. And I didn’t do it gently either—I’m pretty sure the whole neighborhood heard me. I asked him who she was. He said, “No one.” He said, “I’m sorry.” But the damage was done. Of all the people I’d ever trusted, he was the one I never thought would do this to me.

And then, to add insult to injury, she called me. Like she had a right to. Asked me, “Why are you so big mad?” Girl. Really?

Miss Mikka Cawthorne—yes, I’m saying your name. You knew he was married. You knew. And still, you inserted yourself into our lives. And when he stopped talking to you, you retaliated. You mocked me publicly. You posted my pictures. Tried to humiliate me.

It was emotional infidelity, which, in many ways, was worse than physical. He made that choice. And I made the choice to try to make it work.

We went to therapy. I learned about forgiveness—not for him, but for me. I didn’t forgive him right away. Honestly, for years, I didn’t forgive him at all. Because forgiveness doesn’t mean you forget. It doesn’t mean what happened didn’t hurt. Forgiveness means you stop carrying the poison someone else poured. It took time, but I got there.

Do I still love him? Yes. Do I still want to be with him? Absolutely. But there were times I truly didn’t think we’d make it. And yet… here we are.

I still see her around town. Same dusty wig, same energy. And honestly? I feel sorry for her. Because it takes a deeply broken person to seek validation through destruction. One day, she’ll meet the right one on the wrong day. And that won't end well.

But me? I’ve grown. I’ve healed. And even though today feels heavy, I am proud of the woman I’ve become. I’ve walked through fire and came out softer, wiser, and stronger.

And that’s something no one can ever take from me.