KARMA...

What does that even mean? Revenge pleaseee....

They say it’s just a phase. It’s just heartbreak. You’ll heal. You’ll be fine.

But what if healing looks different?

What if healing, to you, means taking revenge because karma is taking forever?

Is karma even real?

Sometimes it feels like the people who hurt you are the ones living the happiest lives.

That choir master who raped you is now married with beautiful children.

Every Sunday, you sat in the congregation and watched him smile as he played the keyboard, hands raised in worship like he was heaven’s favorite son, while the urge to hurt him grew stronger with every hymn.

People called him “Man of God.”

And you?

You sat there trying not to fall apart. The words he whispered to you years ago never left your head.

“Nobody will believe you if you tell them.”

He was right.

Who would believe that a minister of God could do such a thing?

So you stayed quiet You swallowed your pain. You buried the pain and carried it alone.

Every Sunday, seeing him smile while you slowly died inside made the anger grow louder.

One day, you couldn’t take it anymore… you left the church, convincing yourself you had buried that chapter of your life… it was over.

You moved on…or at least, you tried.

Then you met someone and you fell in love. You loved him with everything you had. The relationship lasted fifteen years. Fifteen long years.

Fifteen years of being reminded, during every heated argument, that you had been molested. Every argument somehow found its way back to your past. Every wound you thought had healed was ripped open again. Fifteen years of emotional abuse. Mental abuse. Physical abuse. Still, you stayed. Still, you loved. Still, you gave your all.

You kept hoping tomorrow would be different because Fifteen years is a long time to throw away. People always say the devil you know is better than the angel you don’t…So you endured.

Then one night, after another heated argument, he simply said ‘It was over’.

Just like that. You packed your things and left.

Forty years old.

With nothing to show for the years you poured into someone else.

You had lost opportunities, investments, Lost money, You’ve lost time….Most painfully, you’ve lost yourself.

You weren’t loved. You were used.

Maybe that was your purpose all along. Maybe you were born just to build other people so they could become someone else’s blessing. Maybe your purpose was to be the bridge everyone crossed before finding happiness somewhere else.

How else could you explain it? You buried that heartbreak too. You convinced yourself you were strong. You drowned yourself in work.

Two years passed.

You were forty two.

Still single.

Not because nobody wanted you but because you couldn’t trust another man.

Men disgusted you. The bitterness has settled so deeply that even the thought of love makes you sick.

Every promise sounded like another lie waiting to happen.

You stopped dreaming of marriage. You thought about adopting a child instead.

Maybe a child would give you the love life never did. You filled your home with pets.

You tried to build a life that didn’t need anybody.

Then one ordinary afternoon...

You saw a picture. Your ex was getting married. Your heart stopped.

You zoomed in. Every detail. Every smile. Every face.

Then you found her Instagram.

You stared at her pictures until you realized who she was.

The same woman. The one he had been cheating on you with. The one he told you not to worry about.

A smile escaped your lips. Not a happy smile.

The kind that comes when something inside you finally breaks.
You whispered to yourself,

“I have to end this before it even starts.”

“She doesn’t get to enjoy what I never had.”

“She doesn’t get to enjoy my investment.”

“I built that man from the gutters.”

“I spent my hard earned money.”

“I went into debt for him.”

“She doesn’t get to harvest where she never planted.”

“Not under my watch.”

The wedding day arrived.

She looked beautiful. It should have been you.

That dress...It should have been yours.

The smile.

The life.

Everything.

He had forgotten you.

The future you spent years sacrificing for...It’s being handed to someone else.
As though you never existed. As though your suffering bought someone else’s happy ending. And for the first time in years, all the graves you’ve carefully dug inside yourself begin to open.
The church.
The choir master.
The betrayal.
The wasted decade.
The loneliness.
None of it stayed buried.
It was only waiting.

Waiting for something to wake it up.
You wonder if this is what people mean when they say someone “snapped.”
Not in one moment. But after a thousand moments of swallowing pain until there is no room left for anything else.

By morning, there would be shattered lives. Families mourning.

That night...

You waited.

And you did what karma never seemed willing to do.

You sent them back to God.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t shake.

You didn’t even feel guilty.

Then another face came back to your mind.

The choir master.

The beginning of it all.

You searched for him.

Found him.

And did the same.

You stood there looking at the silence you had created.

Then you whispered,

“You built this.”

“All of you did.”

“You created the monster you were too blind to see.”

For the first time in years...

Your heart was quiet.

No fear.

No tears.

No nightmares.

Just peace.

Real peace.

Or maybe...

Something that looked exactly like it.

I don’t know if God will forgive me.

But I finally forgave myself.

P.S. This is a work of fiction.