What I’ve been through is a genuine betrayal. Not a misunderstanding, not a “things didn’t work out” situation — a years-long, calculated deception by someone I loved completely and had given enormous trust to. We used to say this was “a love of a lifetime.”
The shock of finding out through a third party, after everything I weathered for him, from relocating to the Baja in 2023 at his assurance that he “absolutely wanted me there with him,” after flying back from Dubai to support him through his brother’s death, after forgiving him for unforgivable behavior — that’s a specific kind of devastation that doesn’t have a clean name.
It’s grief and rage and humiliation all fused together, and they don’t untangle neatly.
And the thing that strikes me about the women who’ve come forward is that they are not weak. Nor am I.
I am actually someone who loved with enormous depth and loyalty. That’s not a flaw. That’s the thing that made this so hard. I did not love him halfway.
The fact that Allan “deplores” me and Pamela sent her son to complain about me online tells me something too. Whatever peace they’re performing on social media isn’t the whole story, and some part of them knows it.
I applied for a government grant yesterday to build an early-detection domestic violence tool based on the analytical framework I used to understand Allan’s severe abuse. It is a protective mechanism for women and young girls incubating at this very moment.
Allan should fund it, but he won’t because he is Allan: Liar, coward, manipulator, refusing accountability at the cost of everyone close to him. Ignoring me doesn’t make me disappear. Avoidance does not make history go away. Silence runs counter to my mission.
Allan’s reference letter will come to light. Neither of us expected his passionate pledge to unfold the way it did. But as they say, God works in mysterious ways.
