“7 Years Ago, I Fell in Love With My Ex-Husband—What Happened to Us Will Shock You!”

On This Day…
Seven years ago today, I was broken. Lost in the depths of my own struggles, I fell deeply in love with my ex-husband. Drifting between two worlds—neither of which truly felt like mine—I clung to his, hoping I would somehow belong. I didn’t. But I stayed anyway.

Six years ago today, I was still in love. Still lost. Still hurting. Still lonely. Desperate, yet unwilling to let go. I wandered, refusing to plant roots in ground I couldn’t even touch. I abandoned myself, following him deeper into a world that wasn’t meant for me. I convinced myself that the fire ahead wouldn’t consume me—that its glow would warm me instead of turning me to ash.

A Life in Pieces
Five years ago today, I stood alone in a bathroom, hand resting on my very pregnant belly. I smiled through swollen eyes and a shattered heart, snapping a picture. I posted it on Facebook, saying, “Happy St. Patrick’s Day from the three of us.” But I had no idea where my husband was. Though I looked steady on the outside, I was crumbling inside—engulfed in flames I no longer had the strength to fight.

Four years ago today, I discovered I was pregnant with my youngest son. Hope became my anchor. I clung to it with borrowed strength, even as the rope frayed beneath me. I held onto faith, believing it would carry us through.

Three years ago today, the last thread of that rope gave way. Once again, I stood alone. My life shattered before me in slow motion, each jagged piece cutting deeper than the last.

I found myself at the heart of my own personal hell, searching for solace in the gaze of my children and the power of my faith. Everything around me was unbearably loud. The pain was too overwhelming to feel. My fingers grasped at the remnants of my life, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reshape the ash into something whole again.

Rising From the Ashes
Two years ago today, I stood in a courtroom across from my ex-husband, finalizing the last details of our life together. The day before, I had played outside with my sons, rolling down hills and filling my pockets with their laughter. That laughter became my shield, carrying me through a moment that threatened to break me.

Even as my knees tried to buckle, I forced myself to stand. I watched my life unfold as if I were merely a spectator, yet amid the ruins, I saw something new—embers of hope beginning to glow beneath the layers of despair.

Grace carried me through the next year. I swayed between gratitude and grief, struggling to find my balance. But on this day one year ago, I took a full breath for the first time in six years. It filled my chest, brought life back into my bones. I had scars to remind me of my journey, but I also had freedom. I had survived.

I had found strength I didn’t know existed. Forgiveness I never believed possible. A deep appreciation for the beauty hidden within the wreckage. I had walked through fire and emerged, not unscathed, but cleansed. The healing wasn’t perfect, but I had learned how to let go—and there was incredible beauty in that.

On This Day, I Am Whole
Today, I marvel at what can happen when we keep moving forward, even when our legs shake beneath us. When we dare to believe, even when hope seems shattered. When we choose to forgive the unforgivable. When we find love again in the most unexpected places.

The fire that once consumed me has transformed—not into destruction, but into passion, purpose, and the vibrancy of life. The ashes I once clung to have been washed away, replaced by faith where fear once lived.

What was once collateral damage has become something else entirely—collateral beauty, filled with gifts I never imagined.

On this day, I am grateful. I am whole. I honor my past because it led me here. I know that life will always have its struggles, but as long as I hold onto hope, I will always find my way.

Today, I am a reflection of both my past and my future. Messy yet beautiful. Broken yet healed. Ruined yet redeemed.

On this day, everything has changed. Yet, I am more myself than I have ever been.