How To Confront Your Boyfriend If He Cheated?

I watched my mate thrust into his female best friend he told me I didn't have to worry about. So I left and now he wants me. How do you get over that?

Iris Glover and Stanley Stein shared seven years together—three of dating and four of marriage. Their relationship unraveled when Stanley chose to believe the homewrecker and prosecuted Iris in court himself. The question, "Do you plead guilty?" shattered Iris' heart. She fought fiercely in court, proved her innocence, and exposed the homewrecker's true nature. Upon her acquittal, she told Stanley, "Let's get a divorce." He replied, "Don't you regret it, Iris," believing she was merely throwing a tantrum. When they crossed paths again, Stanley asked, "Have you come to reconcile?" Iris retorted, "Being so delusional is an illness; seek help." Every time she got mad, she always went back to him once she calmed down, but not this time. It wasn't until Iris emerged as a successful lawyer standing opposite him in court that Stanley realized she had changed; she no longer belonged to him. In a moment of desperation, he pleaded, "Iris, I still love you. Please come back to me." Iris, now strong and resolute, replied, "The reason I improved myself is thanks to you, not for you. Mr. Stein, please step aside; don't stand in my way."

My girlfriend suddenly told me she had six small beads implanted inside her, blushing as she said it was meant to please me. The next day, I made soup and brought it to her office. To my surprise, I saw her in the arms of my good friend, Henry Somerset. Henry wrapped his arm around her waist, his voice deep. "Baby, you're such a good girl. You really did the implantation as I told. My dumb friend even thought you did it for him. Do you reckon he'll lose his mind if he finds out you and I are getting married soon?" My girlfriend's voice turned cold. "This is nothing more than a marriage of convenience. I'm warning you not to let Chris find out." Henry chuckled and moved his hand downward. "Don't worry. As long as you keep me happy, I won't get Chris into trouble." After hearing all this behind the door, my entire body went cold. Clutching my phone tightly, I recalled my boss saying he would transfer me to a subsidiary company a few days ago. I no longer hesitated and sent him a text. [Boss, I'd like to be transferred to the subsidiary company in Hailborough City in three days.]

After being secretly married to me for five years, my husband, a famous actor, suddenly reveals his relationship on his Twitter account. Promotional accounts find out who I am and make me out to be a woman who refuses to let the relationship die. My husband's fans criticize and mock me all over the Internet, but I'm unfazed. My husband's the one who cheated on me, yet he's acting like he's deeply in love with another woman. Does he think I'm nothing but a regular businesswoman? Sometimes, some people get ahead of themselves because they forget their roots. I bet he's forgotten who funded his success!

Since it's already the end of the year, I'm slacking off at my job. That's when I come across a forum post on the Internet. "My husband has gone on a business trip on his own. This is the photo he sent me when he updated me on his situation. Everyone, can you please take a look at the photo and tell me if there are any problems with it?" The Internet users are quick to go into their Sherlock Holmes mode. Still, they aren't able to spot any problems with the photo. But a comment is quick to catch my attention. "Am I the only one who thinks that this post is a clickbait? Could it be that a disloyal jerk who's cheating on his wife wants to proclaim his devotion toward her but is scared that he might get caught? Maybe that's why this photo is uploaded here instead so that everyone can help him find out what's wrong with this photo!" As soon as the comment is posted, the original poster deletes the post instantly. This makes me frown. At the same time, my husband, Gavin Prescott, sends me a photo on WhatsApp. "Honey, here's my daily update! Your darling husband is still devoted to you as always!" As I stare at the photo, which is exactly the same one that was posted on the Internet, I feel my heart sinking. This is definitely not a coincidence!

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.