This whole thing is hell.

I don’t say that lightly. It feels like no matter what we do, what we say, or what we aren’t doing is a problem with someone. And it’s especially hard being ridiculed by people who don’t even know you. Strangers. People who think they know everything, but only know what they believe to be true.

When we started dating 4 years ago, the internet was in shambles. They were still stuck on my relationship from years prior, but we knew that. They never let me live it down, and that’s why I went silent on all social media. But last year, when we got married, everything only got worse.

I’ve never loved someone like I love you. That’s something the internet can’t spin into what they want. It’s my truth. You are everything to me, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. I’ve never wanted anything more than for you to be my wife, but the world had their opinions on it.

Can I really say opinions when it’s spiraled into so much more? And can I really clump us together in this situation when it’s really only happening to you?

The outlandish speculations have never been a new thing to us. People digging up old video clips or posts from before we were ever together to paint you as some kind of villain. Your father is a huge businessman in the music industry, and with me being a singer, our paths were bound to cross. Fleeting moments, friendly smiles in passing and straight up not even acknowledging one another’s presence has been deemed stalking in their eyes.

Yes, stalking. They’ve chosen the narrative that since we were both just kids, you’ve been plotting our relationship. Scheming for years in hopes that one day you could lock me down. That’s what they say. And that have evidence to back their claims.

Videos of those forgetful moments way back when, tweets you’d made about the boyband I used to be in, or screenshots of you liking my exes posts. As if she isn’t one of the biggest pop-stars in the world.

It’s all ridiculous, and it’s all getting to you.

But I can’t blame you. What they say is harsh and unfair. No one should be talked about in the way you’ve been receiving.

That’s why I’m not surprised to find our bedroom door closed when I get home from a studio session. It wouldn’t be unusual if it was later than 8 pm. I know you’re not asleep. I know that the dam you’ve built up has finally broken.

I gently push open the door, being met with complete darkness. The only light is from your phone, illuminating against the carpet by the wall, like you’d thrown it across the room in a fit of rage. I kneel down to pick it up, the harsh glow burning my eyes from the contrast. And when my eyes adjust, I know my theories were correct.

{{user}} IS THE ULTIMATE STALKER…

WHEN BEING A STALKER ACTUALLY WORKS.

And so many more disgusting headlines—yes, not just shit posts on social media, real news outlets are saying this—cover your screen.

I have to physically stop myself from doing the same thing you did and tossing the phone away. But that notion is killed when I hear you sniffle. My eyes snap up in the darkness, spotting the you-shaped lump on the bed. And your sniffles intensify into small cries, forcing my feet toward you

“Baby… Baby, why are you looking at this?” I kneel down beside the edge of the bed, my hand reaching out to rest on the shape of you. “You know it’s not true. They’re just projecting. They’re— Fuck, baby. Please. You know I don’t believe them…”