Fools Fate Files
Fools Fate Files: My Stories, My Betrayals, My Truth
These files hold my stories—raw accounts of the betrayals I’ve faced, the lies I’ve endured, and the thoughts that have shaped my journey.
By sharing these entries, I hope others can learn from my mistakes. Time is fleeting, and everything happens so quickly.
A fool’s fate is for those who wait. Don’t wait—read on.
File No.1
Introduction
January 26, 2025
If you are reading this, you've found me. You've found Fools Fate, and I welcome you. Whether you've just begun your journey through the pain of betrayal, or you are a veteran of the pain, the journey seems relentless and never ending. For that, I am truly sorry. I promise you that you are not alone and what you are going through matters so don't give up. Thank you for finding the courage to get through another day. Thank you for finding the strength to keep going when every second feels like an impossible eternity. It is unlike any other kind of pain and hosts a special kind of hell that I would wish upon anyone.
It’s impossible to explain or put into words what those first moments of discovering betrayal are like. The shock is momentary compared to the array of emotions that seem to flood and overwhelm every single cell that makes up your body. Simultaneously on repeat. Discovering betrayal can be a slow process comparable to following a path of breadcrumbs through an industrialized bakery or sometimes we just aren’t paying attention. Like the time you fit a full cart of groceries into that briefcase size trunk because let's face it, that trunk just became the final round in the worldwide championship game of Tetris, and you weren’t going to walk away without that title. You beat them all. Each bag perfectly placed with sheer determination, you smile and close the lid. In that moment you realize you left your keys in the game. Whatever way you reach discovery; you find yourself at the receiving end of your significant others carefully orchestrated lies and secrets and facing the excruciating realization that they've been intimate with someone else that isn't you. In that moment it feels like if your heart beats any harder or any faster it’s going to burst through your chest cavity and come fitting out of you. How is it possible for a heart that’s beating so vigorously and strong to think it could burst from your chest also feel like it's crumbling into millions of pieces that are now floating through your body as your mind and body are falling into this momentary state of paralysis and disbelief at the same time? This moment will forever be ingrained in you and remain in the back of your mind for the rest of your life. This moment will change every part of your being, and you will never be the same again. However, it does not define who you are or gives it the power to lower the expectations you've set for yourself or the expectations you have of others. They don't get any prizes for what they've done.
Lying, cheating, along with ghosting have become an epidemic. The epidemic is so widespread that it's no longer a question of who is cheating but rather who isn't cheating? How does something so painful, traumatic, life altering, destructive and demonstrative become so normalized? So where do you go from here and how do you get there? Sometimes the only way of getting around pain is having to go through it.
File No.2
Who I Was Before Betrayel
February 1, 2025
In the beginning before the dirty word betrayal became a main staple in my vocabulary, I think I was like most girls/women. I woke up, got out of bed with a smile, had a fresh cup of hope and walked in the sunshine. John Hughs had written and directed every moment of my life just like they unfolded in every one of his films. Or so that is what I had believed.
At an early age it was evident I was an extrovert. My mother always told me I never had met a stranger. Meaning I was full of life, and I talked to anyone and everyone that gave a hint of interest. I made people laugh and I was not afraid to make the most out of nearly every situation. I was full of energy and happiness. No matter the circumstance I could find a positive outcome if I put my mind to it. I suppose that many if not most young females feel the same. It’s not until later in life and several storms do we realize that even the rain erodes the earth a layer at a time and so do relationships.
Love was something I thought hit you out of nowhere and when you least expected it. I didn’t have any great examples of what love could or should look like. I came from an on again off again broken home with long spells of abuse. Everything I knew about love came from movies or my own imagination. Naïve doesn’t begin to cover it. I was the live version of Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty all rolled into one. Disney had nothing on me.
Love was going to gallop up on his horse and whisk me away to the castle where happily ever after was a series of ball room dancing scenes and a lot of laughing and singing. Morning breath, messy hair and urinating with the bathroom door open never crossed my mind let alone any other realistic element of a relationship such as trust. What girl or young woman has the slightest notion of the word trust? For me personally my beliefs about love were based on every romantic film from the early 80’s and one extremely overactive imagination thanks to ADHD which dual purposed as a coping mechanism thanks to an adolescence riddled with abuse.
Although trust was nonexistent in my home life, I can’t recall any notion of its absence in my deluded concepts of love and relationships. I never felt apprehension about falling in love or being in a relationship. It was quite the opposite for me. I was anxious and eager for love to find me and hit me with a baseball bat or lightning bolt out of nowhere because I believed when that happened it meant you met your match. The person you fell in love with was pre-destined and he would rescue me, protect me, and we were going to live happily ever after somewhere near the mall. Where we could cruise with our friends, shop till we drop and be the stars of our own singing and dancing number at the center of the mall on the escalators until death do us part.
John Hughes films are still iconic today. Through the years I introduced one or another to my kids as they were growing up and reminisced the thoughts and feelings I had when I first watched them just as they were. If only we could all be the birthday girl leaning to kiss the boy of our dreams over a cake filled with candles he baked just for us. While the tom-boy mechanics and underprivileged seamstresses fall in love and get the guy in the end, it couldn’t be further than reality. You won’t find John Cusack holding a boom box over his head playing a romanticized song begging for another chance outside your window in the pouring rain. I can guarantee you will never see Eric Stolz chasing you down the street to hand you diamond earrings that you eagerly place in your lobes for him to tell you that you look good wearing his future. The reality of relationships is more comparable to Fight Club. But we won’t talk about Fight Club. Not just yet.
What I wouldn’t give for a do-over and a time machine. But maybe the real question isn’t where it all went wrong—maybe it’s whether it was ever real at all.
File No.3
Who's Ryan?
February 16, 2025
It had been a while since I had seen—we’ll call him Ryan. I couldn’t tell you what my first thoughts about Ryan were. He was a family acquaintance who had once been our neighbor. Over the years, we got used to his frequent visits—he just sort of showed up, and we accepted that. It didn’t matter where any of us went; he always found his way back. To say he played a detrimental role in our lives wouldn’t be accurate, but we allowed his comings and goings, giving him a place in our world. Over time, we each grew to care for him in our own way.
Ryan was a big guy—about six feet tall and close to three hundred pounds. Not my type. Throughout the years I had known him, I had gone through a couple of relationships, some of which he had partially witnessed. From time to time, I even confided in him about my trials and tribulations. He was nowhere near my closest friend, but a friend nonetheless.
I was forty-four when things began with Ryan. John Hughes and the romanticized love stories I once believed in had long since died. The reality and brutality of men had nearly destroyed the hopeful young girl inside me. Whatever remained of my faith in love was found at the bottom of whatever beer bottle I was holding at the time—a bottle I always managed to see as half full.
In the months leading up to this, I had gone through a difficult breakup that became the catalyst for the lowest point in my life. I was desperately trying to keep my head above water. Besides my two nearly grown children from my second failed marriage, I had my best friend—we’ll call him Wayne—and my other best friend, brewed in the Rocky Mountain Springs. Wayne was my partner in crime, an alcoholic from birth. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have sworn he was breastfed from a tap. With our shared family history of alcohol-ridden dysfunction, we could have owned a brewery instead of spending our money funding them.
Just like Fight Club, we don’t talk about that. Yet.
Let me be clear—I do not condone using alcohol or any other substance as a crutch or a coping mechanism. There are many things I am not proud of. But there’s no point in sharing my personal journey of struggle and betrayal unless I do it with honesty and transparency. The path I chose should not be traveled. Had I known then what I know now, I would have taken my own advice.
At this juncture, let me take a moment to expand on what’s in store for you and Fool’s Fate. In the future, I plan to share the full series of events that led to Ryan—and ultimately, to the creation of Fool’s Fate. Whether you find it relatable, insightful, or just worth a good laugh, it will be here. However, right here, right now, marks both the beginning and quite possibly the end of my personal journey—the one that led to the creation of Fool’s Fate and my desire to bring awareness to an epidemic that has grown exponentially.
The epidemic I’m referring to is the ultimate act of betrayal—cheating.
By leaps and bounds, this epidemic has spread over the years, fueled by what I call excuses. Regardless of what justifications people attach to it, more than 64% of the U.S. population has been affected by cheating, according to a 2025 tech report. That statistic includes only individuals in committed, monogamous relationships—excluding other factors to provide accuracy.
Prolonged lying, deception, manipulation, and the destruction of trust aren’t just personal betrayals. They alter lives. They annihilate emotional and psychological well-being, often leaving permanent scars. Cheating doesn’t just hurt—it infects. It poisons. It weakens the soul and erodes self-worth. And in the end, the one who was betrayed is the one left to suffer.
We are members of a secret society with lifetime memberships—cheated, betrayed, and left to pick up the pieces in silence. But silence isn’t working anymore.
It’s time to talk about Fight Club.
Keep reading. The journey now begins.
File No.4
Time to Talk About Fight Club
February 24, 2025
One might ask, “Is this an exclusive club?”, “Are there membership fees?”, “Is there a dress code?”
The 1999 film Fight Club is a provocative narrative exploring the complexities of multiple personality disorder. Two distinct individuals—two conflicting personalities—battling for ultimate control over one mind. Sound familiar? It’s not a far cry from what happens in relationships. At times, one personality dominates, shifting the dynamic and influencing every aspect of the connection. The duality of Fight Club’s protagonist is something we’ve witnessed far too often in our own significant others.
And when it’s over—whether after two hours of watching the movie or after years spent with the wrong person—you’re left in silence. Shocked. Confused. Questioning your own sanity.
Like in the film, relationships begin with two people seemingly working toward the same future. Trust, loyalty, faithfulness, and honesty are supposed to be the foundation. But what happens when one person is deceptive from the very start? What if the parameters of the relationship were never real?
Selfish desires and alter egos have become behavioral monstrosities, wreaking havoc in people’s lives. Deceptive, underhanded actions for personal gain are fueling the steady decline of morals, ethics, and accountability. Maybe the characters in Fight Club didn’t stay on the screen after all. Maybe they’ve manifested, appearing in our own lives, disguised as exes. Or maybe dishonesty, unfaithfulness, and lack of accountability have slowly seeped into normalcy over generations.
Either way, betrayal has become a prominent feature in relationships today.
The recipe for a healthy relationship hasn’t changed since the beginning of time—but the ingredients are harder to find.
With that in mind, and after my own massacred attempt at reenacting a John Hughes romance, I realized it was time for something different. Ryan was nothing like the men I had dated before. He was overweight. He wasn’t conventionally attractive. He was quiet. Most of all, he seemed completely sincere in everything he said. He rarely spoke to anyone outside my family—and definitely not to other women.
Maybe attraction would grow if I changed my mindset.
Maybe he was the answer right in front of me all along.
I just knew I needed to get off the hamster wheel I’d been running on for forty-something years. This endless cycle of liars, cheaters, users, and abusers needed to stop. My legs were tired.
Should I say something to him? What if he didn’t look at me the same way? Had I ever even asked him if he dated or was interested in women?
I was still running in circles.
I needed to stop. Breathe. Take a break. Get a drink.
But how does one begin to walk when all they’ve ever done is run?
Keep reading.
File No.5
Keep Swimming
March 5, 2025
Another Friday night had blurred into Saturday morning as I got up to grab another bottle of Rocky Mountain Spring Water—my chosen weapon for drowning my problems. Unfortunately, my problems were Olympic medalist swimmers, each one fiercely competing for gold. And what kind of person would I be if I didn’t do my part to help them achieve their dreams?
After enough laps of butterflies, breaststrokes, and backstrokes, it’s only a matter of time before you slam into the lane line. People have suggested over the years that therapy might have been a more productive (and cost-effective) approach. They were probably right. But I’ve never been one to quit—which, in this case, made me a glutton for punishment. If only I had a time machine, maybe then I’d take a different route.
Speaking of getting off course...
It was another fun-filled Friday-turned-Saturday morning, and I had just refreshed my beverage. As usual, I took my seat on the porch beside my best friend and partner-in-crime, Wayne. We reminisced about the night before while half-heartedly contemplating the adventures the day might bring—so long as we had drinks in hand. More often than not, we let those plans fade into nothing, choosing the easier road—the one we always traveled—before eventually stumbling off to bed.
Arguably, not the proudest era of my life.
All I knew was that the sun was shining, and the huge local outdoor swap meet just up the road had already started serving my favorite refreshments. 7:00 a.m. was no reason to waste the day sleeping.
Wayne and I began gathering our supplies and watching the clock.
Not even ten minutes later, who appeared before my eyes but Ryan.
Sure, I had thought about him from time to time, but I hadn't considered anything beyond that. A few months had passed since I last saw him, and life had carried on without him—just as it always had. His presence had never altered the course of things. He came and went so often, his absence never felt like a loss. When I think about it now, Ryan always had a knack for disappearing.
We expected it. Until we didn’t.
I can’t say I was shocked to see him. I can’t say I was excited, either.
He was just there.
And whether out of politeness or some vague effort to fold him into our routine, we invited him along. He didn’t hesitate, almost as if he had nothing better to do. Without a word, he climbed into the back seat of Wayne’s beat-up SUV as we loaded up for another day of drowning our sorrows—complaining about them all the way.
Wayne and I, after nine years of friendship, had perfected the art of self-destruction. We were far too eager to show Ryan how it was done.
Some of our biggest mistakes are unconscious.
They hide in the smallest details.
And of all the things I could take away from that time in my life, the only positive is this:
I now have seven years of sobriety.
But what I’m about to share with you isn’t about that.
This is about my worst.
Slammed into that lane line? That was nothing compared to the pain I was about to go through.
Keep swimming
File No.6
The Words That Changed Everything
March 10, 2025
A few years ago, I might have kept swimming with the rest of you, waiting for the next Fools Fate File or hoping to finally be in a relationship that didn’t end up like the others. At this point, it’s a lot less like swimming and a lot more like flailing—like I’m being pulled underwater, even though my feet are planted firmly in a kiddie pool barely deep enough to cover my ankles.
I hate everything I’ve lost—like my face without wrinkles or my ability to flirt with my eyes, which, thanks to those wrinkles, now just make me look like I’m permanently squinting. For many people going through betrayal, it feels like the end of the world. Like the pain will never stop, and you’ll never get over it. Right about now, I really would give just about anything for that time machine.
I’ve had those same thoughts and feelings more times than I can count. But this time? This time really was the end of the world for me. I was single again. And I turned fifty. At this age, I figured I had better get used to spending the rest of my life drowning in the kiddie pool. Maybe after a few years, I’d heal—but I’d also be even older, time wouldn’t be on my side, and learning to swim for the hundredth time was nowhere on my bucket list.
To this day, I can’t tell you what possessed me to tell Ryan he was looking good that day at the local outdoor swap meet. Admittedly, I had been swimming through many bottles of that Rocky Mountain Spring Water all night and into the now painfully bright morning sun. We had stopped at nearly every concession stand on our journey through the endless aisles of junk, quenching our thirst and keeping that sweet four percent ABV flowing.
As we wrapped up our several-hour endeavor, we wove through the maze of parked cars to reach our final destination—Wayne’s old beat-up Chevy Blazer, the chariot of choice for days (and nights) like these. Whether it was in that very parking lot or at the convenience store where we made yet another pit stop, I honestly couldn’t tell you. All I know is that at some point, the words slipped out of my mouth like a fart in church on Christmas.
"You’re looking good, Ryan."
A singular, runaway sentence. Some might call it an opinion.
Where in the hell is that time machine?
I don’t need to own it. I just need to borrow it for five minutes so I can shove a sock in my mouth. I don’t even care if it’s dirty. If I time it just right, you wouldn’t even know I borrowed it—I’d be back before you knew it. Ba dum tss! Maybe if you let me use it, I’d even come back with better jokes. Or better yet, maybe I could get back the five years that ended with me being the joke.
Luke Skywalker should have used the Force. E.T. should have phoned home. The Karate Kid should have crane-kicked me in the mouth that day. If they had, maybe I wouldn’t be here begging to borrow someone’s time machine.
Now that’s a better joke.
All attempts at humor aside, I can’t promise I won’t use it to mask my pain. I can’t promise I won’t reference more movies. I can’t promise I won’t get off track from time to time.
What I can promise is that I’ll be here, writing every week.
There is nothing humorous about what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you love.
Thank you for being here.
Thank you for being unapologetically you.
Until next time.
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