not jealous. just dodging fucking femicide. 💍✨

the emoji codified, comic-tier equivalent of my marriage:

💍✨ | 🚩🚩 | 🥷💸 |🤰🥊 |🧍‍♀️↘️💀💥🟫 | 📸🧾📆 | 🚨👮 | ⚖️✍️ | 🍼🏡🌅🔒💤

alright,
y’all are goofy.
so, let me say this
with my whole chest:
this is not jealousy.
i’m not here to be likable.
i’m not here to seek revenge—
i’m here to be alive.

i did try
to fall in love with my husband.
like,
fully gave it an honest,
cringe-level little american try.
baby, wedding day?
i truly let myself believe.
atlanta trip? i let myself hope.
for a second i thought,
maybe this is the life
i always fucking wanted.
but shit—
i didn’t marry a fantasy.
i married a man
and then watched
the data fucking betray me.

because look,
there was
always fuckery.
babe—
always a missing
pill…or fucking 20.
always a locked phone screen
always an hour +
locked in the bathroom,
yo.
always a story with
three sideways-ass-endings.
then the long,
creative
theft of my future.

i swear on it all,
i tried. god, i tried.
i practiced loving him
like a language
i was never even taught.
and still—
the math on the bank app
never added the fuck up.
stories with bonus endings.
cash that grew fucking legs.
late-night “errands”
that smelled
like cheap
facetime calls and potentially
fucking extramarital untruths.

nah.
you want jealousy?
baby,
jealousy is loud and thirsty.
i was quiet and stabilizing.
honey, i swear—
in a different universe,
where he’s not leaning psychotic,
we could’ve at least
been best friends.
i wanted that.
i wanted our kid
to have a fucking dad
who shows the fuck up.

but jealous?
babe, no.
if anything,
i prayed he’d
find a girlfriend
so he’d stop
orbiting my life
like a disaster fucking moon.
but nah,
what snapped
my fucking neck
wasn’t “a tragic side-bitch.”
it was the timeline.
the overlap.
the fucking choreography.
that shit is chilling.
if she was there
the fucking whole marriage,
that’s not romance.
that’s premeditated deceit
with an expensive pill habit.

yeah, so
here’s the part
that keeps me up at night:
i stayed loyal to a man
i wasn’t even
deeply in love with,
because we had a child
and a fucking plan.
i chose duty
like goddamn oxygen.
he chose extraction
like a fucking addict.

👏🏻 money siphoned.
👏🏻 car fucked.
👏🏻 benefits “for the family”
redirected into the void
of his unlimited potential.
👏🏻 periodic “acts of deceit”
like the good deeds
you fucking brace for—
because yo,
it’s always
followed by fucking
violence—
that’s not heartbreak.
that’s horror
remembering
my fucking skull
slamming on the
goddamn floor.

🫨 → ↘️ → 💀💥 → 🪵 → 🔁

nope. 🖕🏻
this ain’t about some
”awkward” love triangle.
it’s a fucking risk assessment.
it’s me swapping
a violent heartbreak playlist
for a level three
fucking safety index.
deadbolt over daydream—
babe.
documentation over
fucking goddamn denial.

the facts:

✨ june: vows.
✨ july/august: vanishings + dumb lies.
✨ peek pregnancy: bank balance drops, temper spikes, 10+ scale fucking violence
✨ after: promises to not economically abandon → economic abandonment.
✨ ongoing: the mystery money fountain that never once watered our kid.

compare that to jealousy’s profile:

✶ jealousy says “pick me.”
✶ terror says “don’t kill me.”

✶ jealousy cyberstalks the new girl.
✶ terror rotates passwords,
bars the windows,
and memorizes fucking plates.

✶ jealousy wants him back.
✶ terror wants an order honored and a toddler safe.

so let me carve this in concrete 💫

if he could
lay next to me every night,
watch my body make a person,
and still run parallel lives—
then i didn’t lose a husband.
i survived a fucking full-on con.

i’m not jealous
of whoever gets him. 💫
i’m nauseous for her.
because i know
how the edited scenes
really fucking look—
with photos,
apologies that expire
in 24 fucking hours,
and a bruise
shaped like
a goddamn lesson.

nah—
i don’t hate him.
yo, there’s a
stubborn-ass part of me
that still prays his humanity wins.
but love
without safety
is a fucking trap, 💫
not a virtue.
and forgiveness
without consequences
is a goddamn accelerant.

so no,
bitch,
this isn’t jealousy.
this is a woman
who understands
pattern recognition.
this is a mother
who refuses to be
a fucking eulogy.
this is the ledger talking:

he took the money.
he took the peace.
he tried to take the story.

i’m taking it the fuck back.

✨🖕🏻✨

commit
that shit
to memory:

not jealous.
just fucking terrified.
and so done.

💫