Breaking Free from the Chains of a Covert Betrayal
They called us Black Love—like we were some kind of royal couple carved out of Wakandan stone, no betrayal in sight. The way we walked into rooms, how our laughter blended in harmony, how she’d lock her arm in mine like we were built to last.
It was all an illusion. See, I loved her deeply. Too deeply. And for a man like me—a gentle spirit, a man who leads with kindness—that love became a double-edged sword.
I didn’t just give my heart, I gave her the gamebook on how to LOVE me, and instead, she ripped the pages and created a blueprint to try and END me. With precision. With intention and betrayal.
With a cold-blooded smile that made me question if the warmth I once felt was ever real.
There’s something about a covert female betrayal that’s dangerous in ways no man should ever experience. She doesn’t show up with fangs bared or claws out—no, she’s smooth, calculated.
She plays the role so well that even your mama won’t see her coming. And before you know it, she’s rewriting history, spinning you into a version of yourself you no longer recognize.
At first, she was all honey and fire, soft whispers, deep eye contact, and hands that knew exactly how to hold me.
But once the mask slipped? Cold as a Detroit winter. One night, I got home after a long day—gave her my usual kiss on the lips, ever so gently.
She barely blinked. Sat on the couch, scrolling, smirking at her phone like I didn’t even exist.
“You good, babe?”
I asked, pushing past my own exhaustion. Silence. I tried again, this time with a little joke. Crickets.
That’s the thing about betrayal—they know how to punish you with absence while being present.
It’s not an argument; it’s not a fight—it’s an empty space where love used to live. And the worst part?
They enjoy watching you beg for warmth they never intended to give.
A real partner? She’ll uplift you, hold you down, celebrate you like a queen who knows she’s standing next to a king.
But a covert betrayal? Oh, she’ll pretend—she’ll nod, she’ll smile, she’ll even clap when people are watching.
But behind closed doors? Sabotage. I remember when I told her about a big business deal I had coming up. My excitement was spilling over—I was about to make major moves.
You know what she said?
“Oh… that’s cool. I mean, as long as you don’t get your hopes up too high. You know how things work out for you sometimes.”
Dagger. That’s the thing—she knew how to dim my light without turning the switch all the way off.
Just enough for me to question myself. Just enough to make me hesitate. And when I did fail? She’d purse her lips and hit me with:
“See? I didn’t want to say anything, but I had a feeling.” An illusion of support.
A betrayal will turn the one thing that connects you into a weapon. See, I’m a man who doesn’t just see intimacy as an act—it’s a connection, a language, a rhythm. And she knew that.
Weeks went by. She’d come to bed, turn away, sleep like she was being held by some invisible force—one I clearly wasn’t invited to be a part of. I’d touch her arm, she’d flinch.
I’d try to talk, she’d “accidentally” fall asleep mid-sentence. And when I finally asked?
“Oh my God, you always need something. Can I just EXIST without you thinking everything is about you?”
Ma’am.
At that moment, I realized she wasn’t withholding affection because she was tired, or stressed, or not in the mood—she was controlling me. Making me chase after something that should have been given freely.
Because love, real love, doesn’t come with betrayal, terms and conditions.
A covert betrayal loves to dress up disrespect in the finest silk of “I’m just being honest.”
There was a time when I took her out—one of those high-end Black-owned restaurants where everybody looked like they stepped out of an Essence magazine cover.
I was proud to have her on my arm. But the minute we sat down, she went into performance mode.
“Whew! This menu is cute and all, but let’s be real—your pockets ready for this?” Laughter.
At my expense. In public. I saw the waiter flinch. I saw the couple next to us exchange looks. I swallowed my pride and smiled through it, because that’s what good men do, right?
Wrong. A woman who loves you will never use your moments of vulnerability as punchlines. And the thing is, she knew I could afford it.
She just wanted to see me squirm.
Believe it or not, this wasn’t the first or even the hundredth straw that broke the camel’s back, leading me to leave my MARRIAGE—not my family, not my daughter, my “marriage”.
My decision to escape was rooted in betrayal, not just in the relationship; but in the very City and State that once was my home.
I needed to heal, to recover from the pain. But just when I thought I could breathe, the gaslighting and lies began…
So NO sugar, let me be clear. I didn’t leave my “family” as you wept and lead people to believe…I left YOU
I left the loveless, deceitful, draining irreconcilable bounty on paper. And let me tell you something—I am so elated that that albatross is off my neck. BLACK love?
Black Love my ASS! It was more like a black encompassing mass that drew me in and tried to take me out.
However, I also sacrificed a lot, it was not easy! Hopping on a plane, no money in my pocket, just a promise that it will be alright.
It hurt to leave my mom, who just lost her partner of 65 years—my father.
Leaving behind my genius twin, my daughter, my siblings and their families, my Masonic Lodge Brothers and Fraternity Brothers, my friends, and even the future Olympic swimmer I trained relentlessly made it even harder….
the very things I loved were summoned into a backpack, a small laundry bag, and the clothes on my back.
I had NOTHING but hope, faith, and determination that my life will be restored somehow, someway.
I only grabbed what I could carry, I couldn’t take anymore, it was either leave, or I was going to DIE.
Die a slow agonizing, emotionally toiled death…I couldn’t do it, so I left HER not those who I deeply loved!
I’m finally free. I have spread my wings, and I am living my best beautiful life. Is it hard being away from those I love, yes, of course it is! When I share my story, people ask do I regret anything,
I say yes, as a matter of fact I do. I tell them that the only thing I regret is the time and nothing else. I realized that I left with EVERYTHING I NEEDED within.
So fellas, if you’re reading this and nodding your head—trust your gut.
Love should heal, not harm.
And no amount of history, “potential,” or sweet-talking should make you accept anything less than the respect and devotion you deserve.
Because at the end of the day? The biggest illusion of all… is thinking you have to stay.
English