Faker
Some betrayals are loud—screaming, cheating, broken furniture, police reports.
But others are quieter.
They arrive with a soft tone, a sympathetic nod, and a smile that says, “I’m here for you.”
This is the story of the second kind—the kind that pretends to comfort you while it slowly, silently, tears your world apart.
A few years ago, while I was going through a traumatic divorce, I received a message from a woman named Aryn. She wasn’t a close friend. But she reached out like she was. She asked about my daughters. She said she was sorry for what I was going through. She told me she understood.
What I didn’t know at the time was that Aryn was sleeping with my husband.
The Woman Who Said the Right Things
I was emotionally exhausted. I was trying to protect my daughters. I was trying to understand how I got there—how the person I had loved for years had become a stranger who drank too much, lied too often, and scared me regularly.
Then came Aryn.
She messaged with concern. She echoed my fears. She asked about my custody battle.
She pretended to be worried about my ex’s addiction and said she was praying for my girls.
Aryn (White Text) — 8/4/20, 12:28 PM
“So you’re wanting to be there when he’s with the kids and he doesn’t want that?”
“Do the kids talk to him much?”
She let me open up about things I hadn’t even told my closest friends.
Me (Blue Text) — 8/4/20, 12:36 PM
“Yes, the kids. With him being an addict, I don’t want them going to AZ without me… I’m asking for him to be randomly drug tested.”
“They are okay. I was really emotional the day I got served… he tried to use something Emma told him against me. Just stupid stuff. So I have to be careful now. Which sucks because I know I’m a good mom and person.”
And the whole time, she knew exactly what she was doing.
She was not a bystander. She was a participant.
She was smiling at me—while sleeping with my husband and lying to her own.
When I Finally Reached Out to Her Husband
It didn’t make sense to me at first. But deep down, something felt wrong. Too familiar. Too rehearsed.
Eventually, I contacted her husband—a military officer named Tim. I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it because he deserved the truth I never got. He had been lied to just like I had. Maybe worse—because she brought me into his life as a fake connection.
Text to Tim Nolan — 9/24/20, 1:00 PM
“Hi, this is [Name Redacted]. We spoke briefly via email about your wife and my husband. Wanted to let you know you can contact me here also. Again, I’m sorry.”
I was honest. I told him what I’d heard, what people at the gym knew, what my husband had told others.
Me — 9/24/20, 1:45 PM
“Matthew and Aryn have been talking back and forth. He called her this morning and told her about this. Several people at the gym know. Matthew has told people about their interactions.”
A few days later, Tim messaged me again.
Tim Nolan — 9/27/20, 6:45 AM
“You were right. My wife finally admitted it.”
The Smile That Hurt Me Most
There are so many painful memories from that time—nights crying in silence, seeing the fear in my daughters’ eyes, trying to explain the unexplainable.
But one of the most haunting things?
Is knowing that a woman sat behind a screen, smiled at my pain, and pretended to care—while contributing to it.
She let me bleed emotionally in front of her so she could walk away clean.
She offered sympathy while creating chaos.
She pretended to pray for my daughters while helping dismantle the home they once knew.
And when she was finally caught, it wasn’t followed by an apology.
It was followed by silence.
Why I’m Writing This
Because people like Aryn hide in plain sight.
They know how to mimic kindness. They know what to say. They know how to make themselves look like victims—even when they’ve done real harm.
And women like me?
We often stay quiet.
We minimize.
We blame ourselves for not catching the red flags.
But not anymore.
I’m telling this story not for revenge—but to reclaim my voice.
To tell anyone reading this who has experienced betrayal dressed in empathy:
You are not crazy. You are not dramatic. You are not to blame.
To the Woman Who Needs to Hear This
If someone ever smiled while hurting you—if they pretended to be your friend while betraying you—this is your reminder:
You are allowed to name what they did.
You are allowed to share your truth.
You are allowed to stop protecting their reputation to preserve your peace.
Let them keep their curated stories and filtered love posts.
You have something better: the truth.
And someday, my daughters will know exactly who I was:
The woman who chose truth.
The woman who broke the cycle.
The woman who stopped smiling when it hurt.
3 Daisies Edit 
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