We don’t love you. We don’t want to meet you in a sleazy restaurant/hotel/third floor walk up. We don’t even like you.
You’re disgusting. Pathetic. And irrelevant.
I hope she finds out. I hope your mother finds out. And I hope they both confront you. And make sure you know the pompous piece of shit you actually are.
And I hope you hurt. I hope your heart weighs heavy and your brain constantly reminds you of your lies. And cheating. And manipulation. I hope you never feel the same again. I hope the feeling in your gut that you’ve been caught never goes away.