For months, I’ve been haunted by questions, left in the dark about Katarina’s sudden and complete transformation. Today, out of nowhere, she decided to speak to me. After months of silence, she finally provided answers—answers that, deep down, I had already suspected. I had worried and obsessed over the possibilities, imagining every scenario, and in one way or another, most of my fears were proven to be true.
It hit me hard when she confirmed that she’s been spending her nights with men she meets at bars, fully embracing the lifestyle. The person I once knew, the person I once loved deeply, has changed beyond recognition. She’s become someone who thrives in the bar scene, whose nights revolve around strangers and shallow connections. It’s like she’s shed her old self entirely, and with that, every piece of the person I once admired and cherished is gone. She’s no longer the Karina I knew.
I’ve been grappling with this question: how much of her transformation is driven by alcoholism, and how much of it is simply her desire for this new life—this life with new men, fleeting encounters, and endless nights spent in bars? Maybe she found someone new there, someone who fills the void I no longer could. Maybe she’s found solace in this chaos, or maybe it’s her way of coping. But whatever the reason, it’s clear now: the Karina I loved is gone. She’s a completely different person.
What hurts most, though, isn’t just her transformation. It’s the cold, detached way she’s treated me throughout all of this. She waited months to give me any kind of explanation, leaving me in the shadows, suffering. And when she finally did, her words were like a knife—so sharp, so cruel. She told me she just doesn’t care anymore. She doesn’t care about me, about us, about anything we shared. Her honesty, brutal as it was, left me feeling both grateful and devastated. I needed to hear it, and yet I wished I never had to.
It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that she could have saved me from so much pain if she had just told me the truth earlier. I’ve spent half a year tormenting myself, having nightmares, imagining what she could be doing, torturing myself with the unknown. If she had only been honest from the beginning, I could have started to heal sooner. Instead, she left me to fester in this pit of uncertainty, and for what? For her to finally admit that she just doesn’t give a damn anymore?
Now, though, the truth is out. I see her for who she is today, not the person she was. And that person—the one I loved, the one I thought I knew—is no more. She’s gone, replaced by someone I can’t even recognize. It’s a strange, bittersweet relief to know this. Knowing that the woman I once loved no longer exists makes it easier to let go. It’s like I can finally give up the fight, stop trying to hold on to something that no longer is.
Katarina was a good person once. I can still remember those moments, the times we shared that felt real, that felt like they would last forever. But time changes people. Life twists them into versions of themselves that you never see coming. She’s just not that person anymore, and I have to accept that. And in accepting it, I can finally move on.
I’m ready to let her go. Ready to walk away from the hope that she might return to who she was. The Katarina I loved is gone, and while that’s painful, it’s also freeing. It’s time for me to move forward, knowing that the chapter we shared is truly over, and I can finally start writing a new one for myself.