"Don't you hate him for what he did to you?"
No. The truth is that he didn't do anything to me. What he does after me does not affect me directly. I am not his anymore.

But here's the thing: What comes after me will not experience the "him" that I knew. Whether that's the real him or not makes no difference to me now. All that matters is that I experienced it, and she will not.
He won't slow dance with her in parking lots. He won't hold her close just to feel her heartbeat. He will not hold her hand against his heart, and look at her earnestly, as if to say, "This beats for you." If he holds her close, it won't be with any love behind it at all. A simple release, maybe, but no love. He will not love her. Not now. Not yet.

She won't lie with him and talk about their future. How they won't wear sneakers in their wedding photos ("There's no way you'll get me to wear those things," he'd say with a smirk on his face.) They won't talk about how they'll tell their families. ("Could you imagine what would happen if we did this now?" I'd say, laughing in the quiet of night. "Not now," he'd always say. "But someday.") They won't discuss the wedding party, "fighting" over the choices, because she will not know enough to have anything to fight about. They won't talk about how their daughter will have anxiety, but be a tough cookie like her dad. How their son will be a spitting image of his father, adventurous nature and all. She won't have that blissful moment, because he will not love her.

She won't have the peace of mind knowing that she is falling asleep next to her best friend. Because he will not be it.

She will never have his full attention, but that's not his fault. I can assure you that his mind will be somewhere else. It never stops, that mind of his. He is never fully at ease. If she can get him to settle, she is a saint. She won't have peace of mind, because his mind will always be somewhere else.

She will never see his midnight honesty, when he holds her tightly and makes quiet declarations of love and care, just loud enough for her ears, right before they fall asleep. She will never see his 4 AM care, when he reaches for her in his sleep, only to find her, sigh in contentment, and drift back off, finally feeling complete. She will never have that, because he will not love her.

She won't know the "him" that I knew. But that's okay. Maybe it was meant for me, a special little piece that is never to be replicated.

I'll never know, and neither will she.