At 18 years old, I fell in love with a bad boy. I fell head over heals for a man who was not my boyfriend and who rubbed it in my face every chance he could. Oh, how my heart broke when he kissed other women in front of me. When he asked for my friend’s sister’s number at a party, it felt as if he had stomped on my already bleeding heart. I thought: Who would I turn to for comfort? My friends had grown tired of my whining and sobbing. My pillowcases could no longer bear my salty tears.
“Talk to your mother,” my friend Lucy suggested. She told her mother everything.
I shook my head violently, tears blurring my vision. “I can’t tell her how much I’m hurting!” I blubbered. “I have to keep this from her.” I vowed. Read the rest on MAMIVERSE.