I fell in love with a man I never met.
His name was Mark.
We met online back in October 2008, playing World of Warcraft. Our guild raids were chaos, but even then, his voice stood out, warm, steady, confident. He was a singer, played guitar. The kind of guy who could make "battle strategies" sound like a love song.
He had a little crush on me. I knew. But he never pushed. Never made it weird. We were just friends, really good friends, until we weren't.
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Fast forward to May 2012.
My marriage imploded publicly when my husband posted a breakup message on my Facebook wall. Not a text. Not a call. A public declaration:
"I no longer feel the same way I did. I'm not in love with you anymore. I want a divorce."
I didn't even see it right away. My sister called and asked, "Have you seen your Facebook?"
When I opened it, my stomach dropped. I couldn't breathe. I just stared.
My husband had just dumped me in front of the entire internet.
And then, a message notification popped up.
It was Mark.
He had seen the post and wanted to check on me. That was it. Just—
"Are you okay?"
That simple.
No pressure. No agenda. Just someone who cared enough to ask.
And suddenly, everything in me cracked open. I felt safe. Heard. Held, by words on a screen from a man I hadn't spoken to in ages. That was the first real breath I'd taken all day.
We started talking again. Every day.
It didn't feel like flirting. It felt like home.
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I don't know when exactly it shifted. There wasn't some big moment. Just… a soft unfolding. A new rhythm. He became my constant. He made me feel seen, not just tolerated or endured.
He made me feel special.
I started to crave our conversations. Crave him. Not because he wanted something from me, but because he didn't. He gave without asking. Held space without judgment.
There were nights I would fall asleep listening to him talk, about his day, about nothing. He'd tell me the most mundane things just because he knew I liked the sound of his voice. His job. His lunch. His thoughts on the latest tv show. Didn't matter.
He could've read me a phone book and I would've slept better for it.
It was the safest I'd ever felt.
Fun fact? He was the first person I ever had phone sex with.
(I can hear my sister gasping already. Sorry, not sorry.)
But it wasn't sleazy. It was actually… sweet? Kind?
He made it fun. Safe. I never felt pressured. I never felt gross. Just *wanted*.
Our chats would sometimes get a little spicy, okay, more than a little, but it was always on my terms. And the best part? He still made me laugh through all of it. Sexy and funny? A rare combo.
And after feeling invisible for so long, it felt good to be seen. Desired. Adored.
Even virtually. Even temporarily.
He was my first soft place to land.
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My husband knew Mark existed. He knew we played the same game. He even knew we were Facebook friends.
What he didn't know was that I had started imagining a life with someone else. That I had built a life in my head with Mark.
I could see it. A life that was quiet and kind. A life where I could laugh again. Sleep again. Breathe again.
We talked about meeting. Tentatively planned a weekend in July.
For the first time in forever, I wanted something just for me. I wanted Mark.
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And then I did the one thing I swore I wouldn't:
I went back.
I took my husband back.
I don't even have a good reason. I just thought I had to try. For the kids. For the marriage. For the version of me that thought love meant endurance.
And suddenly, being friends with Mark hurt.
Because every message reminded me of what I didn't have. What I gave up. What I almost had. So I pulled away.
I blocked him.
No warning. No goodbye. Just silence.
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A year and a half later, February 2014, my marriage finally ended for real.
I didn't reach out to Mark. I figured I'd burned that bridge to ash.
But in August… he messaged me.
He said he'd just noticed I'd blocked him. That he was confused. That he'd always wondered what happened.
I told him everything. That I had sent a message back in February apologizing. That I missed him. That he had been right about everything.
He hadn't seen it.
I was horrified.
That's when he told me something I wasn't prepared to hear:
He had loved me.
He would have been with me, in a heartbeat. No hesitation.
But I was too late.
Because one week before I reappeared, he had married someone else. A woman he worked with.
Seven days.
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We kept talking after that. I think we were both a little heartbroken, even if we didn't say it out loud.
Eventually, the lines blurred. The conversations got softer. Slower. More suggestive.
He never said anything crude. Never pushed me. But I could feel it shifting again.
He planned a long weekend trip. Said he wanted to visit.
I canceled before he could book the flight.
And then I blocked him again.
Not because I hated him. Because I didn't.
Because I couldn't keep mourning a life that almost happened.
Because I didn't want to be the reason he stepped outside his marriage.
Because I couldn't handle the ache of almost. I couldn't ask him to stay faithful to a fantasy.
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We're Facebook friends again now.
It's been quiet. Uneventful.
He's married. Two kids. Looks happy.
And I'm genuinely glad.
But I'll never forget what he was to me during that time.
The first person who made me feel beautiful.
Wanted.
Safe.
Chosen.
Even if we never kissed.
Even if we never met.
Even if I only got to live that life in my head.
It was real to me.
And that has to be enough.
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Note to Mark
You probably won't read this. Or maybe you will. Maybe you'll scroll past it someday, half-smiling at the memory of us.
But in case you do read it—I just want to say thank you.
You were there when everything fell apart. When I felt unwanted, unloved, and unworthy… you reminded me that I was still someone worth seeing. Worth listening to. Worth wanting.
You never pushed. Never demanded. You made me feel sexy without shame, safe without conditions. You gave me laughter when I was drowning in silence. You let me fall asleep to your voice like it was a lullaby made just for me.
Even now, all these years later, you still matter to me. You always will.
But I will never cross that line.
I respect the life you've built. The family you have, the love you've chosen. And while we didn't get our moment, I'm still grateful that I got you for the season I did.
Thank you for being my soft place to land.
Even if it was only for a little while.
Sometimes the people who matter most don't stay forever. They just show up when you need them, and that's enough."
—Lola