Recently, I tried to name what my boyfriend had done to rebuild my trust. We were still together. He came home every day. He contributed to our life. But when I looked for something that specifically addressed the cheating, I struggled to come up with an answer. He wants to marry me, and I couldn’t explain to myself what had changed enough for that to feel safe.
I’m 25, he’s 24, and we’ve been together about three years. He’s my first serious boyfriend. When we met, I’d lost my job and was considering moving home. He helped me financially, helped me find work, and supported me when I needed it. He still contributes to major expenses and does a good share of the cooking. Those things are real. So is everything that happened afterward.
Before we became official, I was talking to someone else. I’d told my now-boyfriend I considered myself single until he asked me to be his girlfriend. But I borrowed his car to meet that other person and lied about where I was going. We kissed goodbye; nothing sexual happened. Afterward, I stopped talking to that person. I still think the timing matters, but it doesn’t excuse the lie. When my boyfriend found out much later, he was devastated. Eventually, he forgave me.
During our relationship, though, he was secretly having sexual encounters with other people. I later found explicit messages and evidence of hookup apps, and learned that some of the time he said he was working, he was meeting someone for sex. He admitted to some of it. I still don’t know whether I have the whole story. Some of this overlapped with the period when he was so hurt by what he’d discovered about me.
Before I knew about those encounters, he told me about a woman he’d recently met. I asked whether I should be worried. He said no. Not long afterward, he raised the idea of adding a third person to our relationship, eventually telling me she was interested in both of us. I hadn’t imagined that kind of relationship, but I appreciated what I thought was an honest conversation.
I agreed he could meet her to work out what he wanted, with clear boundaries: no kissing, no sex, nothing physical. He agreed, then slept with her that night and was unreachable for hours. I broke up with him. He kept seeing her while trying to reconcile with me. Later, I met her, and we briefly tried a three-person relationship. I realized I didn’t want it. That ended, and he and I got back together.
I stayed because I loved him and wanted to believe we could rebuild. But our disagreements haven’t been confined to sex. He bought expensive pets after I repeatedly said I didn’t want animals in our small apartment. A plan to recover the expense fell through. He’s offered to rehome them; I want my home back, yet I see how much he loves them and worry about the financial loss.
He compares that purchase with the money tied up in my unsold resale inventory. I do need to manage my business and our space better. I can accept that without understanding why my objection to the pets counted for so little. Our arguments often become a comparison of mistakes before we’ve dealt with the concern I raised.
I miss having his energy, too, instead of time together after hours of gaming, when he’s ready to fall asleep. I want to build my career, travel, and feel confident in the person beside me. Being single doesn’t frighten me. What keeps me from feeling ready for marriage is that unanswered question about what, beyond staying together, has actually repaired the trust.
