#She laughed at me, cruelly, like someone who had forgotten I was once the man she claimed to love. “Sell out,” she spat. “Washed-up actor!” Her words sliced through me with calculated venom.

She laughed at me, cruelly, like someone who had forgotten I was once the man she claimed to love. “Sell out,” she spat. “Washed-up actor!” Her words sliced through me with calculated venom. Then, with a smirk, she leaned in and said, “S__k my d__k!”—a final blow meant to humiliate, not just hurt.

And yet, I said nothing sharp in return. I didn’t insult her back. I just looked at her and said quietly, “Yeah, yeah… your jealousy is pathetic.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t have comebacks. I had plenty. But in that moment, I realized something deeper: she wasn’t fighting me. She was wrestling with her own bitterness, her own unmet expectations. Maybe she resented the parts of me that had grown, evolved, moved on. Or maybe she just wanted to see if I’d stoop to her level.

How can someone keep insulting a man who doesn’t even try to defend himself? Maybe because the silence forces them to face themselves—and that’s often more painful than any argument.

I let it go. Not because I’m weak, but because I’ve learned strength isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, steady, unshaken. I walked away from that moment with dignity intact, knowing this wasn’t love anymore—it was a mirror of pain.

But I believe love will find me again. Real love. The kind that doesn’t mock you when you’re down. The kind that heals instead of wounds.

And when it does, I’ll be ready.