Betrothed to Betrayal
I was never afraid to love.
That… was never my weakness.
Loving hard was easy.
Loving deep was natural.
Loving without measure— that was instinct.
Transferred to me from the one above.
I opened my hands.
I opened my heart.
I opened doors that should have required a key.
And somewhere between “I do” and “I thought you would,” I found myself… Betrothed.
Betrothed to Betrayal.
She didn’t kick the door in.
She didn’t shatter glass.
She didn’t scream her arrival.
No.
She whispered.
She came dressed like promise.
Sounded like forever.
Felt like safety.
And I said… “Yes.” Again.
And again.
And again.
Betrayal knows my name.
She says it softly.
Like a lover.
Like a friend.
Like someone who has held me before.
She knows the exact doorway to enter my heart.
Hope.
That stubborn, sacred, reckless hope that says—
“Next time will be different.”
“Next time he will stay.”
“Next time she won’t lie.”
“Next time love won’t leave.”
Next time.
Next time.
Next… time.
But next time kept turning into last time.
And betrayal…
she leaves marks.
Not loud ones.
Not visible ones.
No.
She leaves invisible bruises in places only God can see.
Fingerprints on trust.
Cracks in confidence.
Hairline fractures in self-worth.
And if you’re not careful…
If you’re not careful…
Those fractures turn to walls.
And those walls turn to stone.
And I felt it. I felt my heart, once tender, once generous, once wildly free… beginning to harden.
Not enough to stop loving. Just enough to start fearing it.
And fear is subtle.
Fear doesn’t shout.
Fear tightens. Fear questions. Fear whispers,
“Don’t give so much next time.”
“Don’t be so open next time.”
“Protect yourself.”
“Withdraw.”
And I almost did.
I almost let betrayal turn me bitter.
Because love can taste bitter.
Like dark chocolate with no sweetness.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
Lingering.
But grace…
Grace changes the aftertaste.
Grace melts slowly.
Grace restores flavor.
Grace reminds you that what wounded you does not define you.
Betrayal may visit,
But she does not get residency.
Divorce the lie.
Separate from the snare.
Untangle your identity from someone else’s failure to love you correctly.
Because betrayal is an event.
It is not your identity.
It is a chapter.
It is not your name.
You are not abandoned.
You are not foolish.
You are not weak for loving deeply.
You are brave.
And bravery bleeds sometimes.
But it does not break.
Open your heart,
not to the one who wounded you,but to the Great I Am.
Let Him enter the rooms betrayal tried to own.
Let Him sit in the silence after the door slams.
Let Him soften what pain tried to petrify.
Because a heart turned to stone can beat again.
A woman shattered by promises can rise again.
A man striped of pride can be restored once more.
A soul betrayed can trust again.
Love…real love…is not naive.
It is resilient.
Love is the antidote.
Grace is the cure.
Breathe in… forgiveness.
Breathe out… the sting.
You were never meant to be betrothed to betrayal.
You were meant for love that surpasses pain.
For sweetness after sharpness.
For grace after bitterness.
This is not a story about being broken.
This is a story about being redeemed.
Bitter Chocolate, Sweet Grace.
Candace Beckford
