She Said She'd Leave. Then It Happened to Her.

The Call I Didn't See Coming

Jasmine called me last Tuesday. Well, she sent a voice note at 11:47 PM. When I played it the next morning, all I heard was crying. That crying where you can't catch your breath.

I called back immediately. "What happened?"

Nothing for a few seconds. Then, "He cheated on me."

I'm sorry, but the first thing that went through my head? Remembering two years ago when her cousin Rochelle took back her husband after he cheated. Jasmine had been so loud about it. "I will NEVER understand women who stay. He showed you who he is. Believe him and GO."

Rochelle heard her. That look on her face. Shame and anger and hurt. And Jasmine kept talking like she wasn't even there. "If a man cheats on me? His stuff is on the lawn. I'm not about to play detective, checking phones, wondering if he's really at the gym."

But right now, on this phone call, that's not what I'm thinking about. Right now, I'm just trying to figure out what to say to my friend who sounds like her world just endedI.

"Cameron?" I ask.

"Yeah."

Six years. The man who cried when her grandmother died. Who drove four hours in the snow for her birthday. Who she'd shown me engagement rings for.

"How did you find out?"

It's bad. Messages on his phone. Pictures. Videos. Four months worth. Hotels. "I miss you." "Can't wait to see you." And the one that killed her: "you do things she won't do."

She. That's Jasmine.

I listened to her cry for an hour. Maybe longer.

Two Weeks Later

I'm thinking she's done. I mean, this is JASMINE. The same woman who told me three years ago that her coworker was "weak" for going to couples therapy after her boyfriend cheated. "Therapy? For what? So he can learn better ways to lie to you? Nah."

I'm expecting the "I kicked him out" call. The "I changed my locks" update. Maybe even the "I slashed his tires" confession, though Jasmine's too smart for that.

Instead, she texts me. "Can we get lunch? I need to talk to you about something."

We meet at this little spot she likes near her job. She looks tired. Not just "didn't sleep well" tired. That bone-deep exhaustion that comes from crying so much your body doesn't have anything left.

She orders her food. Takes a sip of her water. Looks at me and says, "We're in counseling."

I must've made a face because she immediately gets defensive. "I know what you're thinking."

"I'm not thinking anything," I lie because I am absolutely thinking something.

"He wants to make it work. He's really trying. And I just. I don't know. We've been together six years. That's a lot to just throw away."

There's that phrase. Throw away. Like all those years are currency. Like time spent equals time owed.

"Does he know why he did it?" I ask, trying to be careful, trying not to sound like I have an opinion when I definitely have several opinions.

"He said he felt like we were in a rut, that the gym girl made him feel excited again. Young. He said it didn't mean anything." She's playing with her fork, not looking at me. "I know that sounds stupid."

"It doesn't sound stupid."

"It sounds like every cliché excuse ever." She finally looks up. "I know what this looks like. Trust me, I know. But you don't understand what it feels like to lose six years. To think about having to start over. To be back on dating apps at 34, competing with 25-year-olds who don't have any baggage."

And there it is, the real fear underneath everything.

When Your Own Words Haunt You

Her friend Monique calls me the following week. "What is Jasmine doing? She's staying with him?"

"That's her business."

"I know, but. She told ME to leave Darius when I found out he was still talking to his ex. She was so adamant."

Like she's being a hypocrite. And the messed up part? I get it. Both sides.

I remember when I was 32, and my ex did something similar. I stayed for another year because starting over felt impossible. Because I'd introduced him to my family. Because leaving felt like admitting I'd wasted time.

Turns out you can't turn wasted time into something that matters. But I didn't know that then.

The Conversation at Her Kitchen Table

A month goes by. Jasmine invites me over. Cameron's not there. It's just us and a bottle of wine that she opens before I even sit down.

"Everyone thinks I'm stupid," she says.

"I don't think you're stupid."

"But you think I should leave."

I take a breath. "I think you need to figure out why you're staying. The real why. Not the reason you tell people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Jas, look. You've been with him for six years. I get that. But you also know, you KNOW, that time isn't a reason. You know that because you've said it to other people."

She pours herself more wine even though her glass is still half full. "It's different when it's you."

"Why?"

"Because!" She's getting frustrated now. "Because it's easy to have opinions when you're on the outside. When it's not your relationship falling apart. When you're not the one who has to figure out how to tell your mom that the man you've been bringing to Sunday dinner for years is gone. When you're not the one who has to go on Hinge and pretend to be excited about small talk with strangers who might ghost you after two dates."

Her voice cracks on that last part.

"Is that why you're staying? Because you're scared to be single?"

She doesn't answer right away. She's crying again. Not the ugly crying from that first night. This is quieter. Sadder somehow.

"I don't know," she finally says. "Maybe? Probably? I keep telling myself he's really sorry. That people make mistakes. That couple's therapy is working. That we're communicating better now, and maybe that's all true. But yeah, I'm also scared. I'm scared I won't find this again. I'm scared I'm running out of time. I'm scared that everyone's right and I'm being stupid and I'm gonna wake up in another year having wasted more time on someone who doesn't respect me."

She wipes her eyes. "But I'm also scared to leave and regret it. What if this was the wake-up call we needed? What if we actually come out of this stronger? What if I throw away something that could've been fixed?"

And right there, that's the thing nobody tells you about in these situations. It's not that the answer is complicated. It's that there is no answer. Just fear pulling you in every direction.

What I Wish Someone Had Told Me

"Can I be real with you?" I ask.

She nods.

"I don't know if you should stay or go. I really don't. But I do know that staying because you're scared isn't the same as staying because you want to. And I think you need to sit with that. Figure out which one it is."

"How?"

"Ask yourself if Cameron hadn't cheated, would you want to marry him right now? Would you be happy? Or were you already feeling like something was off?"

She's quiet for a long time. "I don't know. I feel like I can't trust my own judgment anymore. Before this, I would've said we were great. But obviously we weren't, or this wouldn't have happened. So maybe I'm just bad at knowing what's real."

"Or maybe he made a choice that had nothing to do with you or the relationship. Maybe he's just someone who doesn't know how to handle discomfort without blowing up his life."

"But people grow, right? People learn?"

"Some people do. Some people just learn how to hide it better."

That lands heavy between us.

"I know what people are saying about me," she says quietly. "I know Monique thinks I'm a hypocrite. I know my cousin probably feels validated or something. And maybe I am. Maybe I owe Rochelle an apology for being so righteous about her situation when I clearly didn't understand anything."

What Our Mothers Knew

My grandmother stayed with my grandfather after he had a whole other family in another state. When I asked her why she didn't leave, she said, "Where was I supposed to go? With three kids and no job? That wasn't a choice. That was survival."

My mother's generation got to leave. They got jobs, opened their own bank accounts, and told men to kick rocks.

And now here we are. We got the independence they fought for. We got our own money, our own places, our own lives. We can leave.

So why don't we?

Because now it's not about survival. It's about fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of starting over. Fear that we're aging out of options. Fear that everyone else is partnered up and we're gonna be the single friend forever.

My grandmother didn't have a choice. My mother made the choice to leave. And we're stuck in between, with all the freedom and none of the clarity.

Three Months In

Jasmine's still with Cameron. They're still in therapy. She says it's getting better. That they're talking more, that he's more attentive.

Maybe.

Or maybe she's just convincing herself the investment is worth it.

I don't know. And it's not my place to know.

Because we all do this, we all have things we said we'd never tolerate until we're tolerating them. Jasmine judged Rochelle. And now Jasmine is Rochelle. And somewhere, someone judging Jasmine right now is gonna find themselves in the same position.

The cycle keeps going because we're all human and scared, and we all think we're the exception.

What I Actually Think

Jasmine's gonna stay until she doesn't. She'll keep trying until something in her decides she's done. Maybe that's in six months. Perhaps it's in six years.

Right now, the pain of leaving feels bigger than the pain of staying. And maybe that'll shift. Or perhaps it won't.

I think she's disappointed herself. Not because she stayed, but because she's realizing she's not who she thought she was. That she's capable of the same "weakness" she judged in others.

Fear keeps us in jobs we hate, relationships that hurt us, situations that are slowly killing who we could be. We justify it. We call it loyalty, commitment, or working through things. We dress it up really pretty, so it doesn't look like what it is.

But mostly? We're all just doing the best we can. And what looks like weakness from the outside might be someone trying to survive their own story.

The Last Thing

Jasmine asked me last week if I think less of her.

"No."

"Even though I'm doing exactly what I said I'd never do?"

"Especially because of that. Because now you understand."

"Understand what?"

"That it's easy to have principles. But it's hard to have them when they cost you something you're not ready to lose."

She cried. Again. Seems like that's all we do lately.

I don't have a lesson here. No wisdom. No plan.

Just this: be gentler with people. With yourself. Because you don't know what you'd do until you're in it.

Your Auntie

This one made you think? Good. Please share it with someone who needs to hear it. We're all just figuring it out.

Chronicles of a Plus Size Diva drops in January 2026.

Let's Talk in the Comments

Drop your thoughts below: • Have you ever judged someone's choice and then made the same one yourself? • Do you think the "investment" argument is valid or just fear talking? • What would YOU actually do in this situation? (Be honest with yourself)