Loving A Lie

Three years. 
That’s how long I gave my heart to someone who was hiding a part of himself I never saw coming. 
Until one afternoon, in a dorm room that smelled like old cleats and vanilla air freshener… 
I opened a drawer I wasn’t supposed to. 
And my entire relationship shattered with a photo. 

No part of me wanted to snoop. 
I swear, I’m not that kind of girlfriend. 

But when he left me in his dorm to take a phone call—one he answered too quickly, one he didn’t take in front of me—something twisted in my gut. 

Maybe it was the way he avoided eye contact lately. Or the texts he read and never replied to in front of me. Or the fact that he suddenly hated when I stayed over, even though we used to fall asleep wrapped around each other like tangled earbuds. 

So yeah. I looked. 

Top drawer: socks, deodorant, gum. 
Second drawer: a journal, his favorite cologne, a note I wrote him last Valentine’s Day. 
Bottom drawer? 

A small envelope. Taped shut. 

Inside it, there was a photo. 

Two boys. 
Shirts off. 
One of them was my boyfriend. 

The other? 

A player from our football team. Zeke Mitchell. 

The caption written on the back made my hands shake: 

“Best weekend of my life. I’ll always choose you. —Z.” 

I froze. Heart sprinting, vision tunneling. 
Then I heard the doorknob turn. 

“Hey,” Caleb said, setting his phone down and walking over. “Sorry, it was—” 

His smile dropped the second he saw what I was holding. 

“You went through my stuff?” 

I held up the photo. “Who is he?” 

Silence. 

“Tell me the truth, Caleb.” 

He shut the door gently. Like slamming it might break more than just the tension in the room. 

“His name is Zeke,” he finally said. “He’s… someone I care about.” 

My throat closed. “Are you cheating on me?” 

He hesitated. “Yes.” 

My knees buckled. I sat down on the edge of his bed, the photo still in my hand like a burning brand. 

“You’re gay?” 

His eyes filled. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. I didn’t even mean for it to happen. Zeke and I… we got close. It started a year ago. I didn’t know what to do.” 

“A YEAR?” I shouted. “You were with me for THREE.” 

He dropped to his knees in front of me, pleading. “I thought I could be both. That if I tried hard enough, I could just—just be straight. For you. For my family. For the team.” 

“You used me,” I whispered. “To hide.” 

“No. I loved you, Jasmine. I still do. Just… not in the way you thought. I didn’t know how to come out. I’m the captain of the soccer team. You think they’d understand?” 

Tears blurred my vision. “You think I’d understand you lying to me? Sleeping next to me for three years while sneaking around behind my back?” 

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered. “But I was hurting too.” 

I left without slamming the door. 
That was the one ounce of control I had left. 

I didn’t cry right away. 

I walked across campus with that picture in my coat pocket, heart hollowing out inch by inch. My mind replayed every memory—first kiss under the bleachers, homecoming dances, late-night phone calls, the way he used to trace my palm like he was reading it for secrets. 

Were they all fake? 

No. 

That was the worst part. I knew they weren’t. 

I knew he did love me. 

Just not like that. 

The next few days were a blur. 

I avoided school. Turned off my phone. Ignored Ava and Sophie when they banged on my dorm door with milkshakes and Kleenex. 

I was mad. 
But mostly, I was grieving. 

Not just Caleb. But the version of my life I thought I was living. 

When I finally talked to Zeke, it wasn’t to yell. 

It was at a coffee shop near campus. 

He looked scared. Defensive. 

“I didn’t plan to fall for him,” he said quietly. “I thought he’d end it with you. But he never did.” 

“He used both of us,” I said. “And you still stayed.” 

He didn’t deny it. 

“He made me feel seen,” Zeke said. “I’ve never had that before.” 

I believed him. 

And weirdly, that’s when the anger finally cracked open into something else. 

Understanding. 

Pain. 

Relief that I wasn’t crazy. 

Caleb texted me the next night. 
Not to ask for forgiveness. 
Just to say thank you. 

“For loving me the best you could, even when I couldn’t love myself.” 

I didn’t respond. 

But I stared at that message for an hour. 

Healing wasn’t linear. 

I saw them together once, walking through campus. Not holding hands. But something about their pace, their body language, said real. 

And I cried. 

Not because I hated them. 

But because I knew I never had that part of him. 

Now, months later, I’m doing better. 

I’m still learning how to trust again. 

How to believe love won’t lie to me next time. 

But I’m also learning that someone else’s secret identity doesn’t make me less worthy. 

It doesn’t mean I wasn’t enough. 

It means he wasn’t ready. 

And maybe that’s not my burden to carry anymore. 

Comment Question: 

Have you ever uncovered a truth that completely changed how you saw someone? How did you move forward from it?