How I Found Out My Partner Was Cheating On Me Through Social Media

By Aqasha Nalani  •  22 Oct 2024 in Features

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Disclaimer: The following article contains the writer’s personal story. If you would like to submit your confessions, email them to [email protected].

There’s a moment in every unfulfilling relationship when you find yourself questioning what you’re willing to tolerate, and that’s often when things become painfully clear.

When you’re repeatedly disrespected—whether it’s through lies, neglect, or even outright betrayal—it chips away at your sense of self-worth.

You ask yourself, “How much more of this can I take?” And while each person’s breaking point is different, there are certain universal moments where people say, “Enough is enough.”

For me, the breaking point came when I realised he was hiding bits and pieces from me.

I decided to change the course of our relationship by donning the investigative journalist hat and conducting my research on the man I was romantically involved with

It all began a few months ago when he responded to an Instagram Story I reposted for a friend seeking a housemate.

He initially enquired about the availability of the rooms, and when I clarified that the listing wasn’t mine, the conversation quickly shifted. He started asking where I lived, if I lived alone, and if I had a room he could rent.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt (which was my first mistake) because I thought he was cute and meant no harm, I shared the details of my current living situation.

Before long, we found ourselves in a five-hour conversation, during which I vented about my day and he opened up about his past relationship failures.

In the weeks that followed, the 23-year-old model and I exchanged phone numbers, sharing daily updates and confiding in each other about our struggles.

At first, the conversation flowed naturally, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t ready to get involved with anyone. I hadn’t fully healed from my previous relationship, which, coincidentally, was also with a model. Yes, I clearly have a type—and maybe, just maybe, I’m the problem.

But things started to shift when he began calling me late at night after I told him I was going through a tough time. He would stay on the line for hours, comforting me until the early morning, and more often than not, we’d both fall asleep during the call.

It felt different, more intimate, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. Soon, my anxiety kicked in, and I worried he might be using me as an emotional crutch to combat his own loneliness.

But then he began to open up about deeper aspects of his life—his family, career, and struggles with his peers. This made me question my doubts, as the connection seemed genuine and it felt like someone understood me.

Not long after, I decided to be upfront. I told him that I didn’t need him to be my sounding board for daily updates—I had friends for that. I made it clear that I could only continue if we were moving towards a committed relationship.

To my surprise, he didn’t walk away. Instead, we became even more entangled, spending more hours talking and deepening our connection; we both became more vulnerable.

I then started to set boundaries in our relationship, telling him that I didn’t just want physical affection after we started discussing sex

That conversation was sparked when he sent me a shirtless photo and casually asked if I was “wet.” The comment made my stomach turn, and I instantly felt disgusted. In reality, I was the complete opposite—dryer than ever.

He also invited me to his friend’s party, saying he was drunk and needed a companion. He added that if I were there with him, he’d kiss me. The whole thing felt off—like I was just a convenience for him at that moment, and it left me questioning where this relationship was really headed.

But I still played it cool and began discussing those incidents. He surprised me by saying that we didn’t have to have sex—that he wasn’t only interested in me for that purpose.

It was a relief to hear, especially after we made it clear that we weren’t just friends and were working to get serious.

As we began going out on our dates, the red flags started to emerge

I began to notice some concerning behaviours during our dates. He often covered his phone, keeping the brightness turned down to the lowest setting and even shielding his mouth when someone called him.

The photos he took of us seemed to reflect an effort to hide me, which some might say is a typical Gen-Z “soft launch.” However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he might be cheating on someone else with me.

My suspicions deepened when he started hiding his followers on Spotify, a change from his previous behaviour, especially after we had created a blended playlist together.

When I confronted him about why he was hiding that from me, he responded dismissively, saying, “Oh, I didn’t even notice.” What an idiotic response.

But I was one step ahead of him; I had already noticed another girl commenting on his photos, so I searched her name on Spotify. That’s when I discovered he was the only person following her, confirming that he had lied to me when he claimed he wasn’t talking to anyone else.

At that moment, I felt emotionally overwhelmed. My emotions threatened to take control, and I wanted to call him to end things right then and there.

But amidst my pain, I remembered that there was another woman involved who had no idea what was going on. I decided she needed to know the truth, so I messaged her on Instagram

The initial conversation didn’t go as expected; it seemed like she struggled to believe the truth about our entire relationship.

When he discovered that I had shared everything with her, he reacted like the p***y he was and blocked me on every platform, trying to ensure I couldn’t interfere since our chances were already gone.

However, things began to shift a week later. She messaged me again, stating that she had reflected on everything and realised he had been lying when he said we were just friends, considering the evidence I had shared.

That man also tried to lie to her several more times, denying his involvement with me and claiming that I was “trying to fool her.”

It broke my heart when she expressed that she felt like crying because I had been in that position before, and I would never want another woman to experience the pain I felt when my ex betrayed me.

I didn’t blame her for the end of my relationship with the 23-year-old. My anger stemmed from the frustrating reality that it’s often women who are left to heal one another and mend the wounds inflicted by men. Why does this always happen to us?

By the end of our conversation, I could sense her kind heart. Despite her own pain, she still wished me the best. It was a bittersweet moment, realising that even in this mess, compassion could shine through and women will always look out for one another.

“You are very precious, and you deserve good love. I know you love yourself, too. From now on, I hope you find someone who can make you the luckiest woman alive.

“Now that my eyes are open, I really thank you for everything. It was nice to meet you; you are a precious and beautiful woman,” she told me, leaving me with tears streaming down my face.

But after all that, I found myself lying in bed alone once more, with no one to console me after everything he had put me through

The weight of the situation recently settled in, reminding me of the emotional toll it had taken, leaving me to grapple with my feelings in solitude.

I couldn’t shake the memories of how he held me in his arms, the warmth of his embrace, and the way he would clasp my hands in public.

The recollection of cuddling his arm while he drove through sunset, the sky melting into vibrant colours with a soft R&B song playing on the radio, still haunts me.

I can still hear him saying, “This is a perfect song for this moment,” and it lingers in my mind, a painful reminder of what once was and what could’ve been.

In the end, I felt like I had wasted so much time being vulnerable, trusting his words, and believing that his heart was pure. I was left questioning whether any of his words were true and if he was sincere when he called me pretty.

But no matter how many tears I shed, leaving my body dry, I knew we could never go back. What transpired had shown me that he was the villain in my story, just as I had played that role in his.

It didn’t matter if I genuinely felt loved or how many songs we exchanged—his melodies would always lead to heartbreak.

I would never hear his apology, and that finality brought a sense of peace, even amid the lingering hurt.

The only closure I could offer was the knowledge that he would never find a piece of me in anyone else, and I would break free from the grip of his false love.