Being the other woman feels like living in a room with the lights off - you can see everything, but nothing belongs to you. You learn to love in the quiet, in the hours no one else wants, holding pieces of someone who will never fully be yours. It's a kind of ache that doesn't shout; it sits in the chest like a slow-burning ember, reminding you that you were chosen only in secret. You carry a love that feels borrowed, a tenderness that comes with a shadow attached. And even though you tell yourself you're strong enough to stay, the truth is that the darkness you walk through was never meant for you - yet somehow, it knows your name.