And I told him my name.
And I watched him understand, too late, that the girl he taught to hate herself had grown into a woman he wasn’t good enough to buy a drink for—
married to a man who loved her at every size she’d ever been,
living the life he swore she’d never have,
while he stood at a reunion,
exactly the same cruel boy,
mocking the wife he’d cheated with,
about to lose her the same way he lost me.
I didn’t need to ruin him.
He did that himself, out loud, in front of everyone,
the moment he flirted with the girl he once told to look at herself and despair.
I looked at myself.
I liked what I saw.
