When I Realized I Was the Villain in Her Story

We don’t always set out to be the villain. Sometimes it happens slowly—through excuses, blurred lines, and half-truths. But eventually, you have to face yourself in the mirror and ask: was I the villain in her story?

How I Became the Villain in Her Story

Have you ever just felt like the side chick?

Like… technically you didn’t think you were. He didn’t say you were. Instead, he gave you a story: “We’re complicated. We’re not really together. She doesn’t understand me. It’s not what it looks like.” And at first, it doesn’t sound so bad. You think, Okay, maybe this is different.

So you listen. You invest your time, your energy, your effort. You share your body, your heart, your soul. And then slowly—layer by layer—the truth starts slipping out. Little things that don’t add up. Words that don’t match actions.

Moments that make your stomach twist because deep down you know: if all the cards had been on the table in the beginning, you would’ve walked away.

But by then? You’re already caught up. And instead of leaving, you start making excuses. “He said he’s leaving her.” “He says she doesn’t treat him right.” “He told me it was already over.” You tell yourself these things so you can live with your choice.

But here’s the truth: when you know another woman exists—when you know she’s in the picture, even if it’s messy—you’re still the villain in her story. Because she doesn’t know about you. You know about her.

And I have been there.

I have been the villain in a woman’s story. And it’s not okay.

This journey I’m on now is about accountability. It’s about looking at my own reflection and saying, “Sis, you knew better.” It’s about not making excuses for poor choices just because I was hurting or lonely or wanting to believe what someone told me.

Because words matter, yes—but actions matter more. And looking back, I should have asked more questions. I should have paid closer attention. I should have protected myself—and her—by walking away.

I’m human. I’ve made mistakes. And I can’t change what happened, but I can own it. I can grow from it. I can show my children that being better means admitting when you were wrong and choosing differently moving forward. I can let my circle know that I don’t hide behind excuses anymore—I’m honest with myself first.

Because at the end of the day, I never want to be the reason another woman cries. I never want to be the villain in her story again.

So I hold myself accountable. I learn. I grow. I do better.