AIB? HELL. NO.
Let’s get one thing straight—this subject hits deep, so if you’re expecting objectivity, you’re in the wrong corner of the internet.
I’m not writing this to be polite.
I’m writing this because lately, Indonesia seems to be hosting a new Olympic sport:
Stealing Someone Else’s Husband.
And for that one special, clueless lady out there—don’t worry, sweetheart.
You can have him.
Keep him.
Cage him.
Worship him.
Just make sure you keep an eye on him, because how you got him is exactly how you’ll lose him.
Let’s talk about it.
Infidelity.
Cheating.
The glorious, glamorous, soul-splitting game of betrayal.
There’s a trend now where women proudly take someone else’s husband, break a home, and then call it… what?
"Love"?
A sacred word mutilated beyond recognition.
You couldn't find a single man among billions, so you chose someone who already made vows, signed papers, had children, a life?
And you called that “destiny”?
No, honey. That’s not love.
That’s laziness. That’s ego.
That’s delusion dipped in perfume and posted to your Insta story.
You think you won.
You post him like a trophy, like some sick badge of honor.
You flaunt the wedding photos, the captions dripping with hashtags like #blessed and #truelove.
But love built on the ashes of someone else’s grief is not love.
It’s theft.
It’s a ticking time bomb disguised as a honeymoon.
And the worst part?
You didn’t just break her.
You bruised her family.
Her parents, who watched their daughter unravel.
Her siblings, who couldn’t protect her.
Her friends, who held her while she cried.
The quiet ones.
The loud ones.
The ones who saw everything fall apart while you pretended to build a fairy tale.
But let me tell you this, darling:
Men who cheat are just rehearsing.
Rehearsing how to lie better.
How to sneak quieter.
How to ruin someone new, just like the last one.
If he did it with you, he’ll do it to you.
That’s not prophecy. That’s just math.
Now, let’s talk about truth.
Some people say it’s shameful to share screenshots, expose DMs, post receipts online.
That it’s "disgraceful" to air dirty laundry in public.
No.
HELL. NO.
It’s not disgrace.
It’s disclosure.
It’s not drama.
It’s documentation.
The disgrace belongs to the cheater, not the one who found the courage to reveal the truth.
Stop silencing the broken.
Stop protecting the wolves by calling the wounded dramatic.
Just be a decent human being for once.
Empathy doesn’t cost you anything.
But silence?
That costs everything.
And as for karma?
I don’t believe in fairy tales either.
But I do believe in justice— the kind that comes quietly, slowly, when the lights go off and the mirror finally talks back.
You will reap what you sow.
Not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But soon enough, you’ll know exactly what it feels like to be on the other side of a knife you once held with pride.
And maybe then—just maybe— you’ll understand what “love” was never meant to look like.
