If the video was a dagger, the debts were the chains.
I thought betrayal of the heart was the worst pain a man could suffer. I was wrong. Money—numbers on paper, contracts I never signed—tightened around my throat like a noose and suffocated me, to breathe.
Letters kept coming. The phone kept ringing, too. Men I had never met demanded repayment for loans I never took. Black money, white money—it didn't matter. All of it was in my name. All of it was tied to me.
She hadn't just cheated on me. She had buried me alive.
I stared at the bills, the notices stamped in red, the threats scrawled by hand. My name was written on every one of them. My name. Not hers. Mine. It was as if she had peeled my skin off and left it hanging for the vultures to feast on.
The phone buzzed again. Another creditor. Another voice spitting venom, promising to find me, promising to break me if I didn't pay. I didn't even have the strength to answer anymore.
I tried to think—how had she done this without me noticing? But the truth was crueler: I trusted her too much to even check. While I worked, while I bled to build a future for us, she signed my life away.
And now, that future was gone.
I pushed the papers off the table, sending them scattering like fallen leaves. They filled the room, reminders of everything I had lost. I pressed my palms into my eyes until stars burst behind my lids, but nothing could block out the truth: there was no coming back from this.
Love had betrayed me.
Debt had destroyed me.
And I was already standing at the edge.
What can i do