According to an article for the Springer Nature Link website on Sex Roles, “The Madonna-Whore Dichotomy (MWD) denotes polarized perceptions of women in general as either “good,” chaste, and pure Madonnas or as “bad,” promiscuous, and seductive whores.” The phenomenon is used to describe the POV of a heterosexual, cisgender male that places women in two categories. 

Sean had everything, he was perfect on paper, exactly the way I had described my future husband. I really thought I had found the man I would spend the rest of my life with. Sean is from generational wealth. The kind of wealth that was built by the family and is kept in the family. 

“I have a Madonna - Whore Complex,” he said sitting across the table from me at dinner. I haven’t seen this bastard in years after the turmoil he put me through and this was his version of an apology. 

“You’re also a narcissist, with daddy issues,” I replied back with a glare, “but what does that to do with me”

“I’m not trying to justify my behavior, I know I treated you horribly and I would like for us to be on good terms,” he said looking down at his cold plate of his forty-five minute monologue of self righteousness. 

“I get that, but I find it hard to believe you are on an apology tour right now, going from county to country giving this same speech to all your ex’s,” he shook his head, “so why am I here?”

“I don’t know,” he replied as he finally cut into his fillet mignon. 

Why was I there? Why did I accept his dinner invitation? What was I looking to hear from him? It couldn’t have been this apology. This couldn’t have been the apology I was looking forward to for closure. The whole time he sat across from me “taking accountability” it sounded more like justification. 

I sat across this man just to hear him tell me, the reason he cheated on me multiple times, emotionally abused me, wasted my time, gave me anxiety and hampered my depression was because he saw me as a “Madonna.” I guess I was his first. 

I rolled my eyes, threw my napkin down and got up to leave. He’d ruined my self-esteem and now my dinner. I couldn’t stomach anything that was coming out of his face hole. 

“I’m getting married,” he shouted and reached for my arm. That stopped me in my tracks, I was gutted. I looked this man in his eyes and watched as his lips repeated that foolish phrase. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, wickedness should not be rewarded. Here I was, on my thousandth failed talking stage, across from the man that broke me telling me how he was settling down. 

SEAN. My Sean, the one I catered to for years in my youth, crossed all my boundaries, failed classes to travel with, never asked anything of, except commitment was telling me he would be getting married soon. My heart ached. 

I sank back into my seat to listen more to this fable, I had to see this through. I signed up for this when I made the decision that Sean would be my husband.

As he held my hand and spoke about his fiance, I was transported to the moment when I chose to walk away from the possibility of a life with Sean. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” I whispered to myself as I bundled up to hop a train back home 2 hours away. We were long distance at this point with him dropping by once in a while to remind me of the hold he had on my future. A gust of wind blew past me and I groaned in pain. He knew I lived 2 hours away yet he flew into this particular airport and made me come down to see him. No Uber, no taxi, and I paid for my own ticket. 

I had started to regret every decision I made until this point, my head and heart had started to make the connection and if the below zero degree weather at one in the morning wasn’t enough for a wake-up call, then I knew I would just have to suffer a bit more. 

I rushed into the house as fast as my little frozen legs to carry, before I defrosted my fingers enough to send the text I had  been practising in my head. But I couldn’t do it, I was a coward, so instead I turned up the heat and crashed into my bed in my 100 sq ft crappy bedsit.

3m… he posted three minutes ago

I laid there for a bit before logging into instagram, his stupid circle face popped up and I decided to watch his story. There he was surrounded by his crowd, he held onto the legs of the girl beside him for dear life. It dawned on me that while my anemic bones fought my way home to prepare for an exam he and his friends were planning to start their partying. I sighed as I realized I was beginning to be immune to the shit. 

It would take me three more months to finally have the courage to leave. 

“She’s 23 years old, and the wedding is set for after her graduation,” he was still fucking talking, “I would love for you to be there.”

“I will pay for your ticket of course,” he spoke expectantly.

“No.” 

Five years trying to domesticate a forty year old playboy, and right after he steals your youth he leaves you for a twenty something year old. What the fuck. We finished the rest of the meal in silence. I couldn't stand the awkwardness of his aura, so I took my dessert to go.

I could feel Sean stealing glances at me as we waited for my Uber to arrive, probably trying to give me the rest of his rehearsed speech, however, I figured it was best to ignore whatever he thought he felt the need to say for could. This man was practically four decades old and acting like a little bitch in front of an ex. 

“I really am sorry,” he blurted. 

I turned to him, smiled and wished his new wife well. 

If I was his Madonna, I wondered how he would treat his whore.