I’m not sure how to begin—everything in my life feels like a complete mess, and I can’t even lie to myself about who started it. It was me.

A few years ago, I was in a serious relationship with someone I met early in college. He was a senior, and eventually, our families got involved. We exchanged meaningful gifts, stayed at each other’s homes, and made plans for the future. I was genuinely happy.

But things slowly started falling apart—mainly because of tension between me and someone in his family. A huge fight broke out, and even though I know deep down it wasn’t my fault, he didn’t stand up for me. He just stayed quiet. That hurt me deeply. I suggested we break up, but it didn’t actually happen—we lived nearby, and somehow we just continued, even though I had already started emotionally pulling away.

Later, I moved to a different college for further studies and became friends with someone from my class. At first, it was innocent—coffee at the canteen, sitting together during lectures, lunch breaks. We got close fast. We even joked about being each other’s “side person.”

Eventually, he asked for a platonic hug. I gave it, but it didn’t feel so platonic. At the time, we were just friends—he had a girlfriend, and I was still technically with my boyfriend.

One day, I needed to buy a blanket and asked my partner to come with me. He didn’t want to—told me to order it online or go with someone else. I explained why I wanted to go in person, but he kept pushing the idea away. So I went with my friend. He joked about it being a “date,” and I said no—just friends.

But on the way back, he touched my hand, then my thigh. I didn’t stop him. It felt… comforting. Safe, even. But later that night, I told him we shouldn’t meet again—what we were doing wasn’t right. And we didn’t, for about a week.

Then we bumped into each other again. Things escalated—we kissed. And after that, we ended up sleeping together a few times. I hated myself for it, but I also realized… I loved him.

I tried ending things with my boyfriend. He didn’t take it well. He knows a bit—about the hug and the kiss—but not everything. Still, he was willing to forgive me.

But my heart was no longer with him. It was with the other guy.

The one I fell for said he was planning to leave his girlfriend anyway, that their relationship had already been rocky before we even got close. He said I wasn’t to blame.

But I still feel like I am.

Even if it was “going to happen” anyway, I was still part of the cheating. I feel like I became the “other woman,” and it’s tearing me up. I regret how it all happened. But I love him. I wanted a life with him. I still do.

But I don’t know if I can carry this guilt forever.