THE MESSAGE
“You ruined my life.
You write your vile little texts, marriages fall apart, and fathers walk out on their families.
That is what you are—
a rotten snake,
the kind of whore you would have to search hard to find.
You do not have a man of your own, so you cannot bear the fact that other women do.
What happened?
Did you invent Caleb for yourself?
And a wedding to go with him?
It is pathetic to watch.
No man wants you, does he?
You are jealous because the Princesses get everything,
while you sit there all alone,
miserable and worthless.
You are nothing.
Before you destroy even more families,
stop writing already.
I bet you have never even seen an Alpha in your life.
And he certainly would not look at you.
Who needs a woman who thinks she is so clever?
A woman is supposed to be a woman.
But you are like a man.
And just listen to the way you speak—
balls,
dicks—
that is all anyone hears from you.
What, have you done all of it yourself?
Is that how you know so much about his dick?” 🤣🤣🤣🤣
I put the phone down
and walked over to the window.
The pain struck straight into my heart.
Her words came back in echoes.
And for one brief second,
I allowed the thought:
What if she is right?
But my mind cut in.
Pull yourself together.
I sniffed.
Analyse.
I began to cry.
Pull yourself together.
I nodded
and tried to stop the tears.
What is she writing?
Filth.
Look deeper.
Do not be a child.
All right.
“You ruined my life.”
What does that mean?
Resentment.
What else?
Bitterness.
What else?
Envy.
Hatred.
Accusation.
The desire to shift responsibility.
An inability to take responsibility for her own actions.
A direct accusation.
A childish,
infantile position.
What else?
Anger.
What else?
Her state.
Correct.
She is drunk
or under the influence of something.
Why?
If she were sober,
she would never have dared to write this to me.
Correct.
What else?
The next line.
What does it mean?
Accusation.
The desire to shift the blame.
Devaluation.
Humiliation.
Domination.
What else?
Dependence.
What else?
Envy
and admiration.
Correct.
Go on.
The insults.
What do they mean?
She is talking about herself.
Good.
What else?
She cheated on him.
Correct.
How often?
Often.
Good.
What else?
This is her nature.
She is describing herself.
Correct.
Go on.
Envy.
Why?
She is lying.
About what?
She is lying that no man wants me
because she has seen the men who do want me.
Correct.
What else?
Envy of my appearance.
Correct.
What else?
Envy of my mission.
Correct.
Go on.
She knows Caleb.
Why?
The statement is a mirror.
She is handing me a false picture.
Perhaps he rejected her
when she tried to get close to him.
Which means?
She is taking revenge.
Correct.
She wants him.
He is unavailable.
And then there is the divorce from the Alpha.
She is jealous.
Correct.
What about Caleb?
I swallowed.
Think.
I am trying.
Think.
He made a public declaration.
Correct.
What else?
He publicly declared
that I am with him.
Correct.
Go on.
Another mirror.
She is the one in deficit.
Correct.
She once had everything.
Now she has nothing.
Correct.
What else?
She is jealous
because I received everything.
Correct.
Go on.
Projection.
Correct.
Of what exactly?
She destroyed families herself,
and now she is projecting that onto me.
Correct.
Go on.
She is placing my intelligence
against her physical attractiveness.
Correct.
She wants to prove
that my intelligence has no value to an Alpha.
That her body against my intelligence
is an easy contest,
and that she will win it effortlessly.
What else?
She wants to devalue me as a person.
She presents physical appearance
as the main priority
and devalues my appearance
in order to show that she is more beautiful.
Correct.
What else?
She is jealous.
Correct.
She is empty.
Apart from her appearance,
there is nothing there.
It hurts her
that the Alpha noticed my intelligence,
while in her
he sees only the external layer.
Correct.
She is offended.
It is unpleasant for her.
Possibly painful.
Correct.
Go on.
Cheap humour.
A failure to understand the terminology.
A direct attack on my femininity.
A dirty game played by male rules.
Correct.
She plays the way men play—
hard
and crude.
These are not feminine energies.
Which means?
It means the entire message is a lie
and a provocation.
She presents herself as more feminine than I am
in order to humiliate me,
while she herself is operating entirely from a masculine position
and completely ignoring the feminine essence.
What else?
She is not suffering.
She is probably bored
and bitter that everything now has to begin again.
Now she has to find another man
and start manipulating him.
Correct.
What else?
I do not know.
Then rest.
All right.
I sat down to think.
Why do people do this?
I suppose it comes from immaturity.
But do they enjoy behaving this way?
It is immaturity
combined with very little awareness.
So what am I supposed to do with it?
It feels as though someone has covered me in filth.
How do I wash this energy off myself now?
Just rest.
I cannot.
My thoughts keep returning to it.
Then you are weak.
I stopped.
If a single message can knock you out of your centre,
then you are weak.
But I am not a man.
That is not the point.
?
Your character has to become more stable.
It cannot collapse
every time someone throws filth at you.
Yes.
Perhaps that is true.
Bring your energy back into alignment.
And do not descend into this again.
Understood.
Somehow,
I recovered from that message
and others like it.
Not immediately.
But I did recover.
ANOTHER STORY
Another story.
I walk into the nursery,
bothering absolutely no one,
as the saying goes.
Just like every morning,
the children run towards me in a crowd.
And suddenly—
the boys freeze.
All of them.
As though someone had given a command.
And then—
they burst into tears.
Thirteen boys at once.
I am horrified.
The educators are horrified too.
The boys are in hysterics.
Then the girls start crying after them.
My heart is pounding in the wrong place.
My God.
What am I supposed to do?
How do I comfort them?
How do I help?
What am I supposed to do?
In the end,
there were almost ten full minutes of sobbing.
Then we discovered the reason.
Their beloved woman
had arrived at the nursery looking unattractive.
I stared at them.
Excuse me?!
“You—you—you...”
More sobbing.
“You came in a tracksuit
and trainers.”
In my defence,
I would like to say
that I came wearing trousers and trainers.
And both were actually very cute.
And it was only because I was on my period.
I could barely move,
never mind walk in heels.
But the boys did not care.
I took a deep breath,
accepted my rather strange—
but apparently very real—
guilt,
and had to make promises.
Toy cars.
Tanks.
Aeroplanes.
Modelling clay.
Colouring books.
Then the girls joined in.
And it turned out
that the list had grown.
A panda.
Handbags.
Jewellery.
Dresses.
Hair clips.
And three soft toys.
In a rush,
I wrote down the names,
what each child wanted,
and who had requested what.
And now,
today,
I have to find all of it,
buy it,
and bring it in tomorrow morning.
As the responsible adult
who now carries on her shoulders
the early trauma of thirteen boys
and twelve girls.
Although, to be fair,
the girls were not traumatised.
They simply had requests.
But still.
Now I am responsible
for their faith in adults,
for the level of trust these children place in me,
and, of course,
for ensuring that Roman can become
what he has always dreamed of becoming—
a captain
whom everyone obeys.
Because otherwise—
and I quote:
“Mum will not buy you a toy!
Do what I told you!”
Um...
Right...
Should I be sounding the alarm now?!
