Gaslit: The Coward’s Move

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Gaslit: The Coward’s Move


These days, too many couples cheat—subtly.

Their defense mechanisms sound like:
“She’s my coworker.”
“She’s my work wife.”
“She’s my friend’s best friend.”
“She’s like a little sister.”

Truth be told? Fuck all of that.

Let me shed light on my experience.

Women carry a massive burden placed on them by men.
Yes—men.
For centuries, men have molded women because they’ve held power.
They’ve dictated how women should dress, behave, and care for themselves.

Who dominates the fashion industry now?
Men. Men. Men.
They’ve shaped the image of women for generations.

Fairytales?
Always the prince saving the princess.
Never the princess walking out on her own.
That narrative only started shifting recently.
Women are becoming more independent, no longer reliant on men.
But housewives and tai tai still do.
They wage war on their husbands when they discover cheating or mistresses—because he’s the provider.

This is my personal experience of being accused of being “the other girl.”
I was eighteen or nineteen, deep into MMORPGs.
I happened to be close with a guy, maybe five years older.
We bonded online, started chatting offline.
It got a little lovey-dovey.

One day, while I was working, I got a call from a woman.
She asked, “Who are you?”
I told her.
Then she asked if I knew this guy.
I said, “Yeah.”
She said she was his wife.
I said, “Oh—I didn’t know. He never told me.”
She was furious. At him. At me.

You know what I did?
I took the fall.
I knew it wasn’t my fault.
He never told me he was married.
But I took the fall anyway.
She raged. I let her.
Eventually, she cooled down and said, “Don’t talk to my husband anymore.”
I said, “Okay.”
And then I said, “I’m sorry.”
I apologized—even though it wasn’t my fault.

Girls these days, when accused of cheating with someone’s partner, they ghost.
Take the easy way out.
“Oh fuck, I’m just a keyboard warrior—not the real deal. RUN!”
Wrong move.

I’d rather see you stay. Talk to her.
Even if she sees you as the villain and you know you’re not at fault.
Why?

Because she needs someone to hear her pain.



Let Her Rage. She’s Not “Cray Cray.”

Another one: when she confronts him.
She acts out. In public.
I say fuck it—let her act out.

But no.
The world rushes to paint her as “unstable,” “cray cray,” “too emotional.”
She’s not.
She just found out he’s cheating.
Let her express it in her own way.

We’ve lived in a male-dominant world for far too long.
So when she breaks the script—when she refuses to be soft, poised, and palatable—
She’s punished.

Girls are supposed to be gentle.
But if he’s a dick, should she be?

The amount of outrageous comments I see:
“She should have class.”
Fuck class.

She confronted him in public.
They ran.
Ghosted her.
And you expect her to be calm?

No.

They already emotionally gaslit her.
They erased the impact of their actions on her well-being.
They didn’t scream.
They didn’t hit.
They did worse.

They never acknowledged her existence.

Is there any country that would be the first mover to charge people for emotional harm?
No.
But this is the regular act we see every day.

No real punishment for emotional damage.
No accountability.
No reckoning.



My take?

Guys are no longer real men.
Real men say:
“I fucked up.”
“I own it.”
“I clean the mess.”
“I take the fall.”


Not cowering behind some other woman.
Not ghosting.
Not gaslighting.
Not rewriting the story to make her look “crazy.”


These are my personal memories and lived experiences. You are not permitted to reproduce, adapt, or portray this scene in any form of media, out of respect for my reality. The original publisher is still alive. Any similarities or resemblances to this story will be regarded as a violation, and I will pursue legal action accordingly. It is unacceptable to misrepresent or claim my life experience as your own.

If you wish to contact me, please do so respectfully via email: nilhdaf@gmail.com

Do not depict my painful experience in any media format, including films resembling Pekak.

Image Source: Canva
Proofreader: Microsoft Copilot


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