My Desperate Aunt F*cked Every Date I Brought Home For 10 Years. Until I Started …

My own aunt had been sleeping with every man I ever cared about, every date I ever brought home, for a full decade before I even realized there was a pattern. For ten years, I blamed myself. I dissected my personality, my appearance, my insecurities, thinking something inside me was fundamentally broken. My name is Amber, I’m twenty-eight, and for most of my adult life I believed I was the common denominator in every failed relationship. I thought I was cursed or flawed or unworthy of love. I read endless articles about attachment styles, texted my therapist in desperation, tried meditation, journaling, self-help, anything that promised healing. But all along, the truth was living thirty feet from my bedroom window.

Last Tuesday was the day everything cracked open. But the story doesn’t begin with that revelation; it starts a full ten years earlier, when I was eighteen and brought my first real boyfriend home for Sunday dinner. His name was Marcus, a sophomore engineering student who had a smile that could melt the hardest day. We’d been dating for two months, but in that dizzy, all-consuming way only teenagers fall, I was already imagining forever. I remember curling my hair three times that morning because my hands were shaking with nerves. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted my parents to love him. I wanted my aunt Linda to behave. I didn’t know then just how naïve that hope was.

Linda was my mother’s younger sister, thirty-eight at the time, and freshly divorced. My mother, who could never turn her back on family, insisted Linda move into our guest house “just until she gets back on her feet.” She said it lightly, like it was temporary, like Linda only needed a few months of rest to shake off the ashes of her failed marriage. That temporary arrangement quietly became permanent. The guest house became hers. Her mailbox. Her refrigerator. Her life. And years later, I would realize she had also turned it into something else entirely.

When Marcus and I pulled into the driveway that first Sunday, Linda answered the door before my parents even knew we’d arrived. She wore a tight red dress—too low, too bright, too deliberate—something that clashed violently with the comfortable, easy atmosphere inside my childhood home. My mom was in jeans and a cardigan. My dad in his ever-present weekend sweatpants. But Linda looked like she was waiting for a limousine, not a family meal. She smiled at Marcus with a spark in her eyes that unsettled me even then, though I forced myself to brush it away. She looked him up and down slowly, deliberately, as though appraising him. “You must be Marcus,” she said, and the way her voice dropped made something sour twist in my stomach.

Dinner felt normal enough. My parents adored Marcus instantly. My dad laughed harder than I’d ever seen him laugh at one of Marcus’s clumsy engineering puns, the kind of joke only two people who cared could find funny. I remember feeling proud. Lucky. Like my life was finally aligning into something stable and bright. Linda sat at the other end of the table, barely speaking, watching Marcus with an intensity that felt predatory in hindsight. At the time, I chalked it up to her being lonely, maybe grateful to have company around. I was eighteen. I didn’t know the world could rot from inside your own home.

Three weeks later, Marcus broke up with me. He said he needed to focus on school. He said I was wonderful, but he was overwhelmed. He said he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. He said everything except the truth. I cried into my pillow for two straight weeks, wrote messy poems in my journal, listened to breakup songs until my ears rang. I told myself this was normal heartbreak. I didn’t think to connect the dots when, a month later, I saw Marcus’s old Honda parked outside the guest house at two in the morning. I’d gotten up for water, wandered to the kitchen, and there it was in the moonlight. Familiar dents. Familiar bumper sticker. Familiar shape. I stood frozen, gripping the counter, trying to convince myself it was some trick of the night. I told myself I was seeing things. I told myself it wasn’t possible.

Then came Jake when I was nineteen, the sweet bookstore coworker who quoted lines from novels and remembered the exact page I’d left off in my favorite series. He was gentle, warm, affectionate—the kind of boy who held your hand like he was holding something precious. After six weeks of dating, he came home with me to meet the family. And just like with Marcus, Linda transformed into an exaggerated version of herself the moment he walked in. Tight clothes. Too much perfume. A laugh that sounded rehearsed. She touched Jake’s arm when she spoke to him, leaning in too close, her eyes flicking over him with that same hungry curiosity she’d shown Marcus. She asked Jake to help her move boxes in the guest house. I should have known. I should have questioned it. But I was too young, too hopeful, too unwilling to face the possibility that someone in my own family could betray me that deeply.

Jake broke up with me two months later. Same excuses. Same vague promises of self-discovery. Two days after that, his car appeared outside the guest house. Twice. At hours nobody should reasonably be visiting an “aunt” they barely knew.

The pattern continued like clockwork.

Tyler at twenty-one. Dumped after almost three months. His car appeared behind Linda’s place four separate times, each sighting slicing me a little deeper even though I tried to pretend it didn’t mean anything. Connor at twenty-three. His motorcycle parked beneath the guest house windows more than once. Brandon at twenty-five. He broke up with me by text, not even bothering with a phone call. His truck appeared in Linda’s driveway the very next night.

And each time, I told myself I was imagining things. That the universe simply disliked me. That I had terrible luck. That I was overeager or too emotional or not enough. Every breakup chipped away at my self-worth until I began to believe I was fundamentally unlovable. I internalized every rejection like a personal failure. I detoxed from social media. I rewrote my dating profile a dozen times. I spent hours in my therapist’s office trying to understand what was wrong with me.

I went to therapy and told my therapist all about my relationship problems.

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My desperate aunt slept with every date I brought home for 10 years until I started dating the pastor from her church. My name is Amber and I’m 28 years old. For the past decade of my life, I thought I was the problem. I thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me that made men leave. I went to therapy. I read self-help books.

 I changed everything about myself trying to figure out why I couldn’t keep a relationship longer than 3 months. And then last Tuesday, I found out the truth. But let me back up because this story doesn’t start last Tuesday. It starts 10 years ago when I was 18 and brought my first real boyfriend home to meet my family. His name was Marcus.

 He was a sophomore in college studying engineering and he had this smile that made my whole chest feel warm. We’d been dating for 2 months and I was completely head over heels. I remember being so nervous about him meeting my parents and my aunt Linda who lived with us at the time. Aunt Linda was my mom’s younger sister. She was 38 back then.

 Recently divorced and according to my mother going through a difficult time. My mom had this bleeding heart for her little sister. So when Aunt Linda’s marriage fell apart, mom insisted she move into our guest house out back just temporarily. she said. Just until Linda got back on her feet. That was 10 years ago. Linda is still there. I brought Marcus over for Sunday dinner.

 I remember Linda answered the door wearing this low cut red dress that seemed way too fancy for a family meal. My mom was in jeans and a sweater. My dad was in his usual Sunday sweatpants, but Linda looked like she was going to a cocktail party. “You must be Marcus,” she said. And I swear she looked him up and down like he was a piece of meat. I brushed it off.

 I was 18 and naive and didn’t want to think my aunt was being inappropriate. Dinner was fine. Marcus charmed my parents. He talked about his goals and his family and made my dad laugh with some engineering joke I didn’t understand. Linda was quiet through most of it just watching Marcus with these intense eyes. Three weeks later, Marcus broke up with me. He said he needed to focus on school. He said it wasn’t me, it was him. He said all the things guys say when they’re lying.

 I was devastated. I cried for 2 weeks straight. I listened to sad music and ate ice cream and wrote bad poetry in my journal. A month after that, I saw Marcus’ car parked outside our guest house at 2:00 in the morning. I’d gotten up to get water and happened to look out the kitchen window. His beat up Honda was right there, clear as day.

 I told myself I was seeing things, that maybe it was a car that looked like his, but I knew somewhere deep down I knew I never said anything to anyone. I buried it. I told myself it was a coincidence. Then there was Jake. I met him when I was 19, working my first real job at a bookstore. He was sweet and funny and loved reading as much as I did. We’d spend hours talking about books and life and dreams. I brought him home after we’d been dating for 6 weeks.

 Linda was there again, this time in tight jeans and a blouse that showed way too much. She laughed at all of Jake’s jokes. She touched his arm when she talked to him. She asked him to help her move some boxes in the guest house. I should have seen it then, but I didn’t want to believe what my gut was screaming at me. Jake broke up with me two months later. Same excuse. Needed space.

 Needed to find himself. All that garbage. And his car appeared outside the guest house three times that I saw. Three times at odd hours of the night. This pattern repeated itself over and over. There was Tyler when I was 21. He lasted almost 3 months before he dumped me out of nowhere. His car showed up at the guest house four times. There was Connor when I was 23. 2 and 1/2 months.

 I saw his motorcycle parked out back twice. There was Brandon when I was 25. He made it to the 3-month mark exactly before he ended things via text message. A text message. His truck was at Linda’s place the very next night. Each time I told myself I was paranoid, that I was connecting dots that weren’t there. That my aunt wouldn’t do something so horrible. That these men wouldn’t betray me like that.

But the relationships kept ending. Always around the 2 to 3 month mark. Always with vague excuses, always followed by mysterious vehicles outside Linda’s guest house. My self-esteem was destroyed. I started believing I was unlovable. that something about me repelled men once they really got to know me. I went to therapy and told my therapist all about my relationship problems.

 She helped me work through my fear of abandonment and my self-worth issues. Meanwhile, Linda played the supportive aunt. She’d hug me when I cried over another breakup. She’d tell me the right guy would come along eventually. She’d say things like, “You’re so beautiful and smart. Any man would be lucky to have you.” The whole time she was sleeping with my boyfriend’s behind my back. My mom defended Linda constantly.

 She’s been through so much with the divorce. Mom would say, “She’s fragile right now. We need to be patient with her. Linda never got a real job in those 10 years. She did some online stuff, made a bit of money here and there, but mostly she lived off my parents’ generosity. Free housing, free meals most of the time.

 My mom even gave her money for essentials. And Linda repaid this kindness by systematically destroying my romantic life. I stopped dating for a while after Brandon. I was 26 and I just couldn’t take another heartbreak. I focused on my career. I worked as a marketing coordinator for a mid-sized company and I threw myself into that. I made friends.

 I went to brunches and game nights and tried to convince myself I was fine being single, but I wasn’t fine. I was lonely and I was starting to believe I’d never find someone who’d actually want to stay with me. Then about 6 months ago, something changed. My mom got really into this new church. She’d always been casually religious.

 But after her best friend invited her to this contemporary church across town, she became obsessed. She went every Sunday. She joined a women’s Bible study. She volunteered for everything and she dragged Linda along with her. Linda didn’t want to go at first. She complained that church was boring, that she wasn’t religious, that she’d rather sleep in on Sundays. But my mom was insistent. It’ll be good for you.

 She kept saying, “You need community. You need purpose.” So, Linda started going to church every Sunday and Wednesday nights and to the various church events my mom signed them both up for. I didn’t go. I’d never been particularly religious, and the idea of spending my free time at church didn’t appeal to me. But I was happy mom had found something she loved.

 Even if it meant I had to hear about Pastor David’s inspiring sermons every time I called her. Pastor David this, Pastor David that. According to my mom, this man walked on water. Then one Sunday about 3 months ago, my mom guilted me into coming to church with her. It was some special service or something, and she really wanted me there. I agreed just to make her happy.

That’s when I met him. Pastor David was not what I expected. I’d pictured some old guy with gray hair in a boring suit. But David was 35, attractive in a cleancut kind of way, and actually funny. His sermon was engaging. He made jokes. He told personal stories. He didn’t talk down to anyone or make people feel guilty.

 After the service, my mom dragged me over to meet him. Pastor David, this is my daughter Amber,” she said, practically glowing with pride. He shook my hand and smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Your mom talks about you constantly.” “All good things, I hope,” I said. “Always,” he replied. His handshake was firm, but not aggressive. His eyes were kind. There was something genuine about him that I liked immediately.

 We chatted for a few minutes. He asked what I did for work. He mentioned he’d grown up in a town about an hour from where I lived. He said he hoped I’d come back to visit the church again. I didn’t think much of it at the time. He was a pastor. He was friendly. That was literally his job. But then I kept running into him.

 The coffee shop near my office was apparently his favorite place to work on his sermons. I’d see him there with his laptop and books spread out across the table. We’d wave, make small talk. Eventually, we started having actual conversations. He wasn’t like other guys I’d talked to. He listened, really listened. He asked follow-up questions. He remembered details from previous conversations.

 He was smart and thoughtful and had this dry sense of humor that caught me off guard. After a few weeks of coffee shop run-ins, he asked if I wanted to grab lunch sometime. I said yes before I really thought about it. Our first lunch was at this little sandwich place downtown. We talked for two hours about everything. Books, movies, childhood memories, bad jobs we’d had.

 He told me about how he’d wanted to be a history teacher, but felt called to ministry. I told him about my dreams of maybe starting my own marketing firm one day. It didn’t feel like a date. It felt like talking to someone who actually got me. But then he asked me to dinner, and that definitely felt like a date. I said yes again.

 I was nervous. I hadn’t been on a real date in over 2 years, and this was a pastor. What if I said something wrong? What if I wasn’t good enough? What if I screwed this up like I’d apparently screwed up every other relationship? But the date was perfect. He took me to this Italian place with dim lighting and candles on the tables. We shared a bottle of wine. We laughed.

 We talked about deeper things like faith and doubt and fear and hope. He held my hand across the table. When he walked me to my car, he asked if he could kiss me. I said yes. It was gentle and sweet and made my heart race in a way I’d almost forgotten was possible. We started dating officially after that. And for the first time in years, I felt hopeful about a relationship.

 I didn’t tell my parents right away. I wanted to keep it private to protect it, to not jinx it. But after about a month, David suggested we should probably tell people, especially since my mom attended his church, and it would be awkward if she found out from someone else. So, I called my mom and told her I was dating someone. Oh, honey, that’s wonderful, she said.

 Who is he? What does he do? I took a deep breath. It’s Pastor David, Mom. There was a long silence on the other end. From church, she finally said yes. Another pause. Well, that’s surprising, but good. That’s good, honey. I’m happy for you. She sounded weird. Not exactly unhappy, but not thrilled either. I figured she was just adjusting to the idea of her daughter dating her pastor.

 I should have known better. The next Sunday, I went to church with David. We sat together. After the service, people congratulated us. My mom hugged me but seemed distracted. Linda barely said two words to me. I noticed Linda staring at David during the sermon, not the way everyone else looked at him while he preached. It was different, intense, almost hungry.

 A cold feeling settled in my stomach. That night, David came over to my apartment for dinner. I’d made pasta and bought fancy bread from the bakery. We ate and talked and watched a movie. It was perfect. Around 10:00, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it and frowned. “Everything okay?” I asked. “Yeah, just a weird text.” “Wrong number, probably.” He showed me the screen.

 “It was from an unknown number. All it said was, “We should talk.” “Definitely a wrong number,” I said. He agreed and deleted it. But the next day, he got another one. “I’ve been thinking about you.” And another the day after that, “Call me when you’re alone.” David was starting to get concerned.

 “This is harassment,” he said. “Should I go to the police?” I told him to block the number. He did, but then the texts started coming from different numbers. I miss you. You can’t ignore me forever. I know you feel the same way. David was genuinely disturbed. He had no idea who was sending these messages. He’d never given his personal number to anyone he shouldn’t have. It was a mystery.

 Meanwhile, I started noticing Linda’s behavior getting stranger. She’d show up at the coffee shop where David worked on his sermons. What a coincidence, she’d say. I was just in the neighborhood. She’d find excuses to be at the church when she knew David would be there, volunteering to help set up for events, offering to organize the supply closet, things Linda had never shown interest in before. And she started dressing differently.

 More makeup, tighter clothes, higher heels. My mom commented on it once saying, “Linda seemed to be coming out of her shell. I was starting to feel sick.” The pattern was emerging again, but this time it was different. This time, Linda didn’t have easy access to David. He didn’t come over for family dinners. He hadn’t been alone with her, but she was trying. I could see her trying.

 2 months into my relationship with David right around the time my previous relationships had always imploded. Things escalated. David and I were at his house watching a movie when someone knocked on his door. It was almost 11:00 at night. He paused the movie and went to check. I heard him open the door and say, “Can I help you?” Then I heard her voice. David, I’m so sorry to bother you this late.

 I’ve been having a crisis of faith and I didn’t know who else to turn to. Linda, my blood went cold. Walked to the doorway and saw her standing on his porch in a dress that was completely inappropriate for the weather or the hour. She had tears in her eyes. Fake tears. I realized I’d seen Linda fake cry to get my mom’s sympathy a hundred times. Amber, she said, noticing me. Oh, I didn’t know you’d be here.

 It’s 11 at night, Linda. Of course I’m here. David looked uncomfortable. Linda, if you’re having a spiritual crisis, I’m happy to talk, but maybe we should schedule something at the church during the day with my assistant present. I just really needed to talk to someone right now, Linda said. It can’t wait. It can wait, I said firmly. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.

 Linda’s fake tears evaporated instantly. She looked at me with something like hatred in her eyes. I was talking to David, not you. And David is my boyfriend, and you’re showing up at his house at 11:00 at night in a cocktail dress. We both know what this is. Excuse me, Linda said, her voice going shrill. What exactly are you accusing me of? David stepped between us. “Ladies, let’s all take a breath here.” “No,” I said.

 Something inside me had snapped. 10 years of suspicion and hurt and confusion were bubbling up. “I’m done taking breaths. I’m done pretending I don’t see what’s right in front of me.” I looked at Linda. “How many of them were there? How many of my boyfriends did you sleep with?” Linda’s face went pale. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Marcus, Jake, Tyler, Connor, Brandon.

 Should I keep going? Because I can. I have a whole list in my head. 10 years worth. You’re insane. Linda said, “You’re paranoid and insane and that’s why none of them stayed with you.” Then explain why their cars were always at your place. Right after they dumped me, I shot back. Explain why every single relationship I’ve had ended exactly the same way.

 Explain why you’re here right now dressed like that, making up some crisis just to get David alone. David was looking between us, clearly trying to process what he was hearing. Amber, what is she talking about? Ask her, I said, not taking my eyes off Linda. Ask her how she spent the last 10 years. Linda’s mask was cracking. The fake tears were gone. Her face was twisted with anger.

 You have no proof of anything. I have 10 years of proof, I said. I have cars parked outside your place at 2:00 in the morning. I have relationships that all ended the same way. I have the way you look at every man I bring around. I have you showing up here tonight. This is ridiculous, Linda said. She turned to David. She’s always been like this, dramatic, jealous.

 She can’t accept that men just don’t want her. Something in me broke. I pulled out my phone. You know what? I’ve been too scared to check. Too scared to confirm what I already knew. But I’m done being scared. I scrolled to my contacts. I still had some of their numbers. I started with Brandon. I texted him.

 Did you sleep with my aunt Linda? Then Tyler. Same question. Then Connor. David was watching me, confused, but not stopping me. Linda was backing away toward her car. You’re making a huge mistake, Amber. The only mistake I made was not doing this years ago. My phone started buzzing. Brandon responded first. How did you know? I’m sorry.

 I was weak and she was aggressive and I’m not proud of it. Tyler was next. Yes, I’m ashamed. She pursued me hard and I gave in. I’m sorry I hurt you. Connor’s response was shorter. Yeah, sorry. I showed David the messages. His face went from confusion to shock to disgust. You need to leave, he told Linda quietly.

 and you need to stay away from Amber and from me and from this church. You’re going to take her side, Linda said. She’s unstable. Can’t you see that? I can see exactly what’s happening here, David said. And you’re not welcome. Linda looked at me with pure venom. You’ve ruined everything. You know that? Everything? No, I said. You ruined everything. For 10 years, you ruined everything. She got in her car and drove away, tires squealing. David and I stood in his doorway in silence for a long moment.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked. “I wasn’t. I was shaking. I was angry and relieved and devastated all at once. 10 years of gaslighting myself, thinking I was the problem, when the whole time it was her. I need to tell my parents, I said. David nodded. I’ll go with you if you want. We drove to my parents house. It was almost midnight, but I didn’t care.

 I had to do this now before I lost my nerve. My mom answered the door in her bathrobe, looking worried. Amber, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering your phone? I hadn’t even noticed it ringing. I checked and saw six missed calls from her and four from Linda. We need to talk, I said. All of us. Dad came to the door, too. They both looked concerned and confused.

 We sat in their living room, the same living room where I’d introduced Marcus and Jake and all the others to Linda. David sat next to me holding my hand. I told them everything. Every relationship, every breakup, every car I’d seen at the guest house, the text to Brandon and Tyler and Connor, Linda showing up at David’s house tonight.

 My mom’s face went from confused to shocked to pale to something I couldn’t quite read. My dad looked like he wanted to break something. That can’t be true, my mom said weekly. Linda wouldn’t. She’s been through so much. She’s been living rentree in your guest house for 10 years while systematically sleeping with every man I’ve tried to date. I said, “The proof is right here.” I showed them my phone. The texts, the admissions.

 My dad stood up and walked out of the room. I heard him go outside. A minute later, I heard him pounding on the guest house door. My mom sat there, tears streaming down her face. I didn’t know. Amber, I swear I didn’t know. Didn’t you? I said I wasn’t yelling. I was too tired to yell. You never thought it was strange that all my relationships ended exactly the same way.

 You never wondered why Linda never moved out, never got a real job, never dated anyone herself. I thought she was depressed, mom said. I thought she needed time to heal from her divorce. It’s been 10 years, Mom. David squeezed my hand. I could hear my dad yelling at Linda outside. I couldn’t make out the words, but his tone was clear.

 My mom looked at David. Did she really show up at your house tonight? At 11:00 p.m., David confirmed, claiming to have a spiritual crisis in what Amber accurately described as a cocktail dress. Mom put her face in her hands. Oh god, what have I done? I let her live here. I defended her. I gave her money.

 And the whole time she was destroying my life, I finished. Yeah. Dad came back inside. She’s packing. She’s leaving tonight. I don’t care where she goes, but she’s not staying here another minute. Linda appeared in the doorway behind him. She had a bag in her hand. Her makeup was smudged. She looked small and pathetic and mean all at once. “This is my family,” she said to my mom.

 “You’re really choosing her over me? You slept with my daughter’s boyfriends,” Mom said. She sounded hollow. “For years! How could you do that?” “Because she has everything,” Linda screamed. The mask was completely off now. She has parents who love her and support her. She has a good job and a nice apartment and her whole life ahead of her. What do I have? A failed marriage, no career, no future. No one wants me, so you took it from me instead, I said.

 I didn’t take anything you could keep anyway, Linda spat. If they really loved you, they wouldn’t have slept with me, but they all did. Every single one. They’d be with you, and then they’d come to me and they’d beg for it. Get out, my dad said. His voice was scary, calm. Get out of my house. Get out of my life.

 Don’t contact us. Don’t contact Amber. If I see you near any of us again, I’m calling the police. For what? Having sex with grown men who wanted me? For harassment? David spoke up, which I will be filing charges for if those texts continue. And I’ll be filing a restraining order. Linda laughed bitterly. Perfect. The perfect couple. You deserve each other. She left.

 We heard her car start and drive away. The house was silent. My mom was crying quietly. My dad sat down heavily on the couch. David and I stayed where we were holding hands. I’m sorry. My mom finally said, “Amber, I’m so sorry. I should have seen it. I should have protected you. I wanted to be angry at her.” Part of me was angry, but mostly I was just exhausted. She’s your sister.

You wanted to help her. I get it. That doesn’t excuse it. Dad said, “We let her stay here. We enabled her. We didn’t question anything. We talked for another hour. My parents apologized over and over. They promised Linda would never be welcome in their home again. They said they’d make this right somehow, though none of us knew how. Eventually, David and I left.

 He drove me back to my apartment. I felt numb. I need you to know something, David said as we sat in his car outside my building. I’m not going anywhere. What she said about men not really wanting you. That’s not true. That’s never been true. You don’t know that, I said. Yes, I do. Because I know you and I’m not going to disappear at the 3-month mark or any other mark.

 What happened with those guys says nothing about you and everything about her. She’s predatory. She’s manipulative. They were wrong to give in, but she’s the one who pursued them. I wanted to believe him, but 10 years of conditioning is hard to shake off in one night. What if the pattern continues? I said, “What if something happens at 3 months? Then we’ll deal with it together.” He said, “But Amber, she’s gone. She can’t get to me.

 I’m not going to Sunday dinners at your parents house where she’s waiting. She doesn’t know where I live now. I’m changing my locks tomorrow just in case. She’s cut off.” He was right. This was different. The pattern had been broken, not by time, but by exposure. I went inside and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone kept buzzing with messages from my mom. apologizing and my dad checking if I was okay.

 There was one message from a number I didn’t recognize. My stomach dropped, thinking it might be Linda, but it wasn’t. It was from Jake, one of the first boyfriends from 8 years ago. Amber, I don’t know if you remember me. Your aunt Linda contacted me tonight. She’s trying to get me to lie for her to say you made up the stuff about us sleeping together. I told her no. I told her to leave me alone. I’m sorry for what I did back then.

 You deserved better. I just thought you should know she’s reaching out to people. I showed David the next morning when he came over with coffee and bagels. She’s trying to build a defense, he said. Classic manipulation. Make everyone doubt your story. It won’t work. I said, “I have the other texts. I have witnesses.” But I was worried anyway. Over the next few days, Linda tried everything.

 She called my mom crying, saying I’d misunderstood everything. She called my dad claiming she was being unfairly persecuted. She sent messages to David’s church email saying I was lying and unstable. David forwarded everything to his church board and explained the situation. They were supportive.

 A few people who knew Linda from church said they’d always found her behavior inappropriate, but hadn’t known how to address it. My mom stopped answering Linda’s calls. My dad blocked her number. I blocked every number she contacted me from. Then Linda made her biggest mistake. She showed up at David’s church the following Sunday not to attend the service to make a scene. I was sitting with David in his office before the service when his assistant knocked frantically.

 Pastor, there’s a woman in the parking lot handing out flyers to people. We went outside. Linda was there with printed papers giving them to confused church members as they arrived. I grabbed one of the flyers. It was a whole manifesto about how I was a liar and David was being manipulated and she was the real victim. It had my personal information on it. My phone number, my address.

 David immediately called the police. Linda saw us and started yelling. There they are, the perfect couple. Built on lies. People were staring. Some were trying to leave. Others were recording on their phones. Linda, you need to leave. David said calmly. The police are on their way. For what? Standing in a parking lot. That’s not illegal. Harassment is, David said.

 Distributing private information is a violating a restraining order is. You haven’t filed a restraining order, Linda said. Actually, David pulled a paper from his pocket. I did on Thursday and you were served on Friday and you’re here anyway. Linda’s face went white. That’s not You can’t. The police arrived. Two officers. David explained the situation and showed them the restraining order.

 They escorted Linda off the property. She screamed the whole way, saying this was religious persecution, that she had rights, that we were all going to pay for this. The church members who’ witnessed it were shocked but supportive. A few came up to apologize for Linda’s behavior, as if they were responsible somehow. David gave his sermon that morning on forgiveness and boundaries.

 It was the most powerful thing I’d ever heard him preach. He talked about how forgiveness doesn’t mean accepting abuse, how healthy relationships require respect, how love without boundaries becomes destruction. I cried through the whole thing. After the service, an older woman from the church came up to me. Her name was Margaret and I’d met her a few times before. “Honey, I need to tell you something,” she said. About your aunt.

My stomach clenched. “What about her?” She tried this before with Pastor David. Before you two started dating, I stared at her. What do you mean? About 6 months ago, she started volunteering a lot, always finding reasons to be alone with him. She’d ask him to help her with things in empty classrooms. She’d show up at his office with coffee. She’d text him at inappropriate hours.

 Did he? I couldn’t finish the question. No, Margaret said firmly. He never responded to it. He was professional and appropriate and eventually had to have his assistant present whenever Linda was around. But she was persistent. She only backed off when your mother got involved and asked her to respect boundaries. I felt sick.

 My mom knew not everything, just that Linda was being a bit too friendly with the pastor. Your mom talked to her about appropriate behavior at church. Linda played the victim. said people were misunderstanding her loneliness. “Your mom felt bad and that was the end of it.” “Until I started dating David,” I said. “Until you started dating David,” Margaret confirmed. And Linda couldn’t handle it. She’d already failed to get his attention.

 Then you succeeded where she failed. That’s what this is really about. It made horrible sense. Linda hadn’t just been targeting my boyfriends to hurt me. She’d been targeting them because she was desperate for attention, for validation, for proof that she was desirable. She was competing with me, her own niece, for male attention.

 And when she couldn’t have David through her usual means, she’d tried to destroy our relationship instead. I told David what Margaret had told me. He nodded slowly. I didn’t want to mention it because it seemed like piling on. But yeah, she made me uncomfortable for months. I thought once I set clear boundaries, that would be the end of it.

 Why didn’t you tell me? Because when we started dating, you never mentioned her being your aunt. You just talked about your parents. And by the time I made the connection, it seemed like old news. She’d backed off and I didn’t want you to think there was any history there when there really wasn’t. You should have told me. You’re right. I should have. I’m sorry. We were quiet for a moment. She’s been doing this her whole life, hasn’t she? I said, “This isn’t just about me. This is who she is.

” David nodded. People like Linda, they’re deeply broken. It doesn’t excuse what she did, but it explains it. I didn’t want to feel sympathy for Linda. I wanted to hate her, but I also realized that her life had become exactly what she’d feared. She had nothing. No family, no home, no dignity.

 She’d burned every bridge trying to fill a hole inside herself that couldn’t be filled with stolen attention. The next few weeks were strange. I had to change my phone number because Linda got a hold of it and sent hundreds of messages. We heard through my mom that Linda had moved 2 hours away. The restraining order meant she couldn’t come near me, David, or the church. My mom went to therapy. She said she needed to understand how she’d enabled Linda’s behavior for so long.

 My parents’ relationship with me got stronger. They were genuinely remorseful and worked hard to rebuild my trust. David and I kept dating. We passed the 3-month mark, then 4 months, then five. No mysterious texts, no late night visitors, no sudden breakups. It was strange at first, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but slowly I started to believe that this was real, that this was different.

 We were at dinner one night about 6 months into our relationship when my phone buzzed with a message from a number I didn’t recognize. My whole body tensed, David noticed. What is it? I opened the message preparing for the worst. It was from Marcus, my first boyfriend from 10 years ago. Amber, I heard about what happened with your aunt. My wife and I were talking and I wanted to reach out.

 What happened between your aunt and me was the biggest mistake of my life. I was young and stupid and weak. I didn’t know she’d done it to all your other boyfriends. I thought I was the only one. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to do the right thing. I hope you’ve found happiness.

 You always deserved better than how I treated you. I showed David the message. You going to respond? He asked. I thought about it. Then I typed back. Thank you for the apology. I found happiness. I hope you have, too. That was it. No anger, no long explanation. No need to rehash it all. Just acknowledgement and moving forward. David smiled.

 I’m proud of you for what? For not letting what she did turn you bitter. For still being open to trusting people. For giving us a chance. I reached across the table and took his hand. I almost didn’t. I almost let her win. But you didn’t. That’s what matters. Two weeks later, David and I were at his place making dinner when he brought up something that had been on his mind. I’ve been thinking about that night Linda showed up.

 He said about what she said about how she claimed those men came to her, that they wanted her. Yeah, it’s not true. Or at least it’s not the whole truth. I’ve been a pastor long enough to know how predatory behavior works. She pursued them. She was older, experienced, aggressive. Most of those guys were young, early 20s, first serious relationships. She knew exactly what she was doing.

 You think she targeted them because they were young? I think she targeted them because they were vulnerable and unlikely to tell anyone. Think about it. What 20-year-old guy is going to admit his girlfriend’s aunt seduced him? The shame alone would keep them quiet. He was right. Linda had been strategic. She’d chosen her victims carefully.

 Young men in their first adult relationships still figuring out boundaries and self-control. Men who would blame themselves rather than her. “She’s a predator,” I said. The word felt heavy but accurate. “Yes,” David agreed. “And the fact that she’s female doesn’t make it less true. We were quiet for a while, both processing this realization. Do you think she’ll try again?” I asked with someone else. Honestly, probably.

 People like that don’t usually change without serious intervention and willingness to do the work. But that’s not your responsibility. Your responsibility is to heal and move forward. Like, I’m trying. I know. And you’re doing great. 3 months later, 9 months into our relationship, David asked me to marry him. We were at the coffee shop where we’d first started talking. He got down on one knee right there in front of everyone. It was perfect and cheesy and exactly what I needed. I said yes.

 We called my parents immediately. My mom cried happy tears. My dad said it was about time. They were genuinely thrilled. Then David said something I wasn’t expecting. We should send Linda an announcement. I stared at him. Why would we do that? Because she needs to see that she didn’t win, that you’re happy, that her attempts to destroy your life failed. Sometimes the best revenge is living well. I thought about it, then I shook my head.

 No, the best revenge is living well and not caring if she knows about it. She doesn’t deserve to be part of this moment, even as someone we’re proving wrong. David smiled. You’re right. That’s healthier. We planned the wedding for the following summer. It was small and beautiful and dramaree. My parents were there. David’s family flew in. friends from church, co-workers, everyone who actually mattered.

 Linda wasn’t invited. She wasn’t mentioned. She was simply not part of our story anymore. Or so I thought. 2 weeks before the wedding, I got a message on Facebook from someone named Rachel. Her profile was private, but her message said she needed to talk to me about Linda. I almost deleted it. I didn’t want anything to do with Linda, but something made me respond.

 What about her? Rachel replied within minutes. I’m her daughter from her marriage. She probably never mentioned me. I felt like I’d been punched. Linda had a daughter. We haven’t spoken in 15 years. Rachel continued. She abandoned me when I was 12 to run off with some guy. My dad got full custody. I just found out through some mutual connections what she did to you.

 I wanted to reach out to warn you and to apologize on behalf of our family. I called David immediately. Linda has a daughter. We video called Rachel that night. She was 33, a teacher, married with two kids. She looked a bit like Linda, but softer, kinder. She told us the story. Linda had always been volatile and attention-seeking.

 When Rachel was a kid, Linda would flirt with her teachers, her friends, dads, anyone who gave her attention. She’d have affairs. She’d cause drama. When Rachel’s dad finally filed for divorce, Linda had fought for custody despite having no interest in actually being a mother. She’d wanted custody to hurt him, not because she wanted Rachel. The court saw through it. Linda got supervised visitation.

 She showed up to three visits, then disappeared, just left, moved away, cut off all contact with her own daughter. She always needed to be the center of attention, Rachel said. If she wasn’t, she’d do whatever it took to make herself the center, even if it meant destroying other people. I’m so sorry, I said. That must have been terrible for you. It was. But I had my dad and I got therapy and I built a good life.

 I just when I heard what she did to you, I felt like I needed to reach out to let you know this isn’t about you. This is who she is. She’s done this to everyone in her life. We talked for over an hour. Rachel told me stories about Linda’s behavior throughout her childhood. The pattern had always been there.

 The need for male attention, the competition with other women, the manipulation and lies. Has she tried to contact you? I asked. Recently, she sends me a Facebook message every few years, usually when she wants something or when she’s hit rock bottom. I don’t respond. I blocked her on everything else years ago.

 After we hung up, I sat with David in silence for a long time. “You okay?” he finally asked. “I think so.” “It’s just knowing she abandoned her own daughter. It makes everything worse somehow. Like, if she could do that to her child, of course she could do what she did to me.” It does add perspective, David agreed. Rachel seems really well adjusted though, despite everything.

 Some people take their trauma and let it make them bitter. Some people take it and use it as motivation to be better. Sounds like Rachel chose the second option and Linda chose to be bitter. Linda chose to be a lot of things, none of them good. The wedding went perfectly. It was everything I’d dreamed of. David cried when I walked down the aisle. My dad gave a speech that made everyone laugh.

 My mom hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe and whispered, “I’m so proud of you.” Rachel came. I’d invited her after we talked. She brought her husband and kids. It felt right to have her there, like closing a circle somehow. No one mentioned Linda. No one thought about her. She was truly gone from our lives. Or so we thought.

 3 months after the wedding, I was at work when I got a call from an unknown number. I normally wouldn’t answer, but something made me pick up. Is this Amber? A woman’s voice, not Linda. Yes. Who is this? My name is Detective Carla Morrison. I’m calling about Linda Chen. My blood went cold. What about her? She’s been arrested for harassment and stalking. We’ve been building a case for several months. Your name came up in our investigation.

 We’d like you to come in and give a statement if you’re willing. Stalking who? A man named Eric Park. He filed a restraining order against her 6 months ago. She violated it repeatedly. She also has charges pending in another county for similar behavior with a different individual. Linda had continued her pattern. Of course, she had. I went to the police station that afternoon with David. I gave my statement.

 I told them everything. the 10 years of destroyed relationships, the threats, the harassment after David and I started dating. We’re building a pattern of behavior case, Detective Morrison explained. Your testimony helps establish that this isn’t isolated, that she has a history of predatory and harassing behavior toward men in relationships. What’s going to happen to her? I asked.

 That’s up to the court, but with the evidence we have, she’ll likely face jail time, and she’ll definitely have to register as part of a harassment offender database. I should have felt satisfaction, but mostly I just felt sad. Linda had wasted her entire life on this. She’d destroyed her marriage, abandoned her daughter, alienated her family, and now she was facing criminal charges.

 All because she couldn’t deal with her own insecurity in a healthy way. The trial happened eight months later. I attended. So did David. So did Rachel. So did Eric Park and the other man Linda had stalked. So did two of my ex-boyfriends who’d agreed to testify. Linda looked small and defeated in her orange jumpsuit. She didn’t look at any of us.

 She stared at the table in front of her the whole time. The prosecutor laid out the case. years of predatory behavior, manipulation, harassment, stalking, violating restraining orders. There was evidence, there were texts, there were witnesses. Linda’s public defender tried to argue that she was mentally ill, that she needed treatment, not punishment.

 The prosecutor didn’t disagree, but pointed out that she’d refused treatment multiple times and continued to harm people. The judge listened to everything. Then he sentenced Linda to 2 years in jail, followed by 5 years probation with mandatory therapy. She was also required to have no contact with me, David, Rachel, or any of her victims. As they let her out of the courtroom, Linda finally looked up. Her eyes met mine.

 I expected to see anger or defiance or even hatred. But all I saw was emptiness. She’d lost everything. And some part of her seemed to finally realize it. After the trial, David and I went to dinner with Rachel and her family. We didn’t talk about Linda much. We talked about our lives, our jobs, Rachel’s kids, plans for the future. Thank you for inviting me to your wedding, Rachel said.

 It meant a lot. I’ve never had much family. My dad passed away two years ago. My mom’s side. Well, you know, so having you guys as family, even distantly, it’s nice. You’re not distant family. I said, “You’re family. Family if you want to be.” She smiled. I’d like that. Over the next year, Rachel and her family became regular parts of our lives.

 Her kids called me Aunt Amber. We had them over for holidays. We went to their kids’ school plays and birthday parties. It was strange. Linda had tried to destroy my life, and in doing so, she’d inadvertently given me a sister I never knew I had. David and I bought a house. We adopted a dog. We talked about having kids someday. Life was normal and boring and perfect.

 One evening about two years after Linda went to jail, I got a letter in the mail. It was from her. My hand shook as I opened it. The letter was short. Amber, I know I’m not supposed to contact you. This letter will probably violate my probation. I don’t care anymore. I’m not writing to apologize. I don’t think you’d believe me anyway.

 I’m writing because I need you to understand something. I hated you for years. I hated you. You had everything I wanted. A happy family, opportunities, a future. You were young and pretty and everyone loved you. Meanwhile, I was the screw-up. the divorced sister who couldn’t get her life together. The one everyone pied. So yes, I targeted your boyfriends.

 I wanted to take something from you like life had taken everything from me. I wanted to prove that you weren’t as special as everyone thought. That men didn’t really want you either. But the truth is they did want you. Every single one of them talked about you, how smart you were, how kind, how real. They felt guilty immediately. They hated themselves for what they’d done. But I didn’t care. I’d already won. Except I hadn’t won anything. I just destroyed everything, including myself.

I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. I just wanted you to know that none of it was your fault. It was all me. My insecurity, my jealousy, my inability to be happy for anyone else. You won in the end, though. You got the pastor. The one person I wanted and couldn’t have.

 The one person who saw through me from the start. That must feel good. I hope you’re happy. I really do. Because one of us should be Linda. I read the letter three times. Then I showed it to David. She violated her probation by sending this. He said, “You could report it. I know.

 Are you going to?” I thought about it about Linda sitting in prison writing this letter, knowing it would get her in more trouble, but sending it anyway. No, I said I’m not. She’s already lost everything. What’s the point? The point is consequences, David said gently. But it’s your choice. I folded the letter and put it in a drawer. Maybe someday I’d report it. Maybe I wouldn’t. But for now, I was done giving Linda any more of my energy.

 You know what the weirdest part is? I said she still thinks I won because I got you. Like you were a prize. Like this was all a competition to her. It was. David said that’s how she saw the world as a zero sum game where someone had to lose for her to win. But that’s not how life works. No, it’s not. We threw the letter away a week later. It felt symbolic, like truly closing that chapter.

 A few months after that, I found out I was pregnant. David and I were thrilled. My parents were over the moon. Rachel’s kids were excited to have a cousin. We had a girl. We named her Hope. My mom held her and cried. “She’s perfect. She really is.” I agreed. As I watched my mom with my daughter, I thought about Linda, about how she’d probably never hold a grandchild.

 How she’d destroyed every relationship in her life, including the one with her own daughter. I didn’t feel angry anymore. I didn’t feel triumphant. I just felt grateful. Grateful that I’d found David. That I’d learned the truth. That I’d stopped believing I was unlovable. that I’d built a life full of people who actually cared about me. Linda had tried to ruin me, but in the end, all she’d done was ruin herself, and I was free. Hope is three now.

 She’s funny and bright and fearless. She has David’s eyes and my stubbornness and an infectious laugh that makes everyone around her smile. Sometimes I think about telling her about Linda when she’s older, about what happened and how I survived it. But mostly, I think I won’t because Linda doesn’t deserve to be part of her story, even as a cautionary tale. Rachel’s kids adore Hope.

 We get together for family dinners every month. My parents are active grandparents. David’s career is thriving. My marketing firm, yes, I finally started it, is successful beyond what I imagined. Life is good. Really, truly good. I heard through my mom that Linda got out of jail a few months ago. She moved to another state. As far as I know, she’s following the terms of her probation.

 I hope she gets help. I hope she figures out how to be happy without destroying other people. But honestly, I don’t think about it much because the best part about the past few years isn’t that Linda faced consequences. It’s that I discovered I was never the problem. Those relationships didn’t end because I was unlovable.

 They ended because someone predatory and broken targeted vulnerable young men and manipulated them. It wasn’t about me. And once I understood that, everything changed. I stopped questioning whether I was good enough. I stopped waiting for David to leave. I stopped believing there was something inherently wrong with me. I was enough. I’d always been enough. Linda couldn’t see it because she couldn’t see her own worth either.

 She’d built her entire identity around external validation from men. When that validation didn’t come, she crumbled. I built my identity around knowing who I am, regardless of who does or doesn’t love me. That’s the difference between us and that’s why I’m here. Happy, loved, whole, and she’s wherever she is, still chasing something she’ll never find inside herself.

 Last week, David and I were talking about having another baby. Hope was playing in the living room and he had his arm around me on the couch. Can you believe it’s been 4 years since we met? He said, “Feels like longer.” “In a good way. In a good way,” he agreed. He kissed my forehead. “I’m glad you gave me a chance. Even with everything that had happened to you before.” “I almost didn’t,” I admitted. I was so scared of the pattern repeating, but it didn’t.

 “No, it didn’t.” Hope ran over and climbed onto David’s lap. Daddy, play with me. He stood up, lifting her onto his shoulders. What do you want to play? Dragons, he roared and stomped around the living room while Hope giggled and pretended to fly. I watched them and felt overwhelming gratitude.

 Linda had spent 10 years trying to prove that I couldn’t be loved, that I wasn’t worth keeping. But all she proved was that broken people break things and healed people build beautiful lives. I chose healing. And here, right here in this moment, with my daughter laughing, my husband playing, my family whole, this is what winning actually looks like.

 Not revenge, not vindication, not seeing your enemy suffer, just peace, just joy, just love that’s real and lasting and earned. Linda took 10 years from me, but she couldn’t take this. She couldn’t take the life I built after she was gone. And that’s everything.