What if? | Teen Ink

What if?

September 20, 2009
By Anonymous

Last week my boyfriend and I broke-up. It hurt, a lot. By all the rules, it shouldn’t have hurt me; I instituted the break-up. It wasn’t as though I wanted to break-up with him though, I pretty much had to, given that I found out my (now ex) boyfriend was dating another girl.

The day a part of my world crashed down, I was home sick. I had a cold. My parents are divorced and that day I was supposed to go to my dad’s house. I decided to stay at my mom’s house. What if I had gone to my dad’s? I can’t get on the internet as easily at my dad’s and when I can, I have no privacy. Today the question popped into my mind: if I had been at my dad’s that night, when would I have decided to look over my boyfriend’s Facebook? If I hadn’t of seen his Facebook and seen what he wrote on that girl’s profile I wouldn’t have broken-up with him. How long would it have been before he broke up with me?

I guess I’ll never know, but this has showed me how one choice can affect every part of my life. If I hadn’t seen his profile that day, would he have broken-up with me by now? Or would I be talking on the phone with him right now, as we did most weekend nights?

It is midnight on a Friday. It’s been a week and two days since the break-up. It is weird to think through the choices that lead me to making one of the best and hardest choices of my life.

First I chose to stay at my mom’s house. Then I decided to get on my computer, then log on to Facebook. After that I decided to look at his profile, just because he was my guy. I clicked on a post that said he had posted a comment on some girl’s photo. I read what he had written. After that I told my best friend, who told me to call him. I called him, and the rest, as they say, is history.

This is my first night at my dad’s house since the break-up. I hate it. My (now ex) boyfriend always made me feel better about being at my dad’s. Now I have no one specific to lean on about being at my least favorite place in the world…unless I call my mom. Maybe this is one of those moments when a girl is allowed to need her mom, even at fifteen years old.



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