He said “Y-E-S.” I thought it meant forever. It really meant “You’ll Eventually See.”
Things moved fast that first year. Maybe a little too fast.
We spent so much time apart because of his career that every moment together felt too precious to waste on “trivial” concerns. I saw orange flags but convinced myself they were just “communication issues.” I didn’t want to ruin something that felt special. That felt destined.
After about three months of dating, we were walking through a mall, grabbing things for one of his events, when a jewelry store caught his attention.
“Let’s go look,” he said casually.
I thought he wanted something for his event, so I followed him in. I was looking around aimlessly when he turned to me and asked:
“Do you want to look at engagement rings?”
My whole face lit up. No one had ever asked me that before. No one had ever cared what I wanted.
We looked together. I fell in love with a yellow-gold, emerald-cut solitaire with a diamond band. He smiled and said,
“Y-E-S — Yellow-gold Emerald-cut Solitaire.”
In that moment, I was gone. Hooked. Completely in love.
I started daydreaming about our future…our home, our family, our forever.
After that, my heart sprinted ahead of reality.
Are we official? When do I meet his family? When will he meet mine?
The endless questions turned into anxiety. When I finally asked, “What are we?” his answer was vague. “We’re still getting to know each other.”
After three months, that’s fair.
After looking at engagement rings, it’s confusing.
But instead of speaking up, I swallowed my confusion whole.
The weekend after that talk, something felt off. For the first time, he didn’t invite me to his home game. He wasn’t traveling or injured. Just… silent.
He texted a few times, but it felt cold. My gut whispered, something’s up.
Was he with someone else? Maybe the person he whispered to on the phone in the early-morning hours?
But I told myself, you’re not his girlfriend… you have no right to ask.
So, I stayed quiet. Again.
Soon after, he got traded to another team and I was crushed. I told myself maybe this was just a new chapter. We’d make it work.
🌵 Long Distance, Longer Questions
He moved to Arizona — four hours away by car, forty-five minutes by plane. I told myself that wasn’t too far for love.
I visited twice before the season ended. On Valentine’s weekend, we drove to Las Vegas with another couple. He never mentioned the holiday…not once…but I convinced myself his presence was enough.
Before I flew home, I asked again: “What are we?”
This time, he said the words.
We were official.
I was his girlfriend and in my mind, one step closer to becoming Mrs. Giant.
When off-season came around it was the best time of my life.
He stayed with me in LA, met my friends and introduced me to his. For a while, I forgot every uneasy feeling I’d ever had.
He’d traveled the world, met countless beautiful women — yet somehow, he chose me. Little old me.
When he met my family that summer, my dad and sister had reservations. But I didn’t want to hear them. Love makes you deaf like that.
Then came Memphis….
🎷 Meeting His Family — and Jada
He took me home for Memphis in May. I met everyone, his friends, godparents, mom, sister, niece, nephew. We slept in his childhood room in the small home his mother had rented for over forty years.
Our first night there, I woke up to use the bathroom. His phone lit up.
“Call from Jada.”
My stomach dropped.
The next morning, of course I asked.
His response?
“You could’ve answered it.”
He said it softly, almost tenderly.
I didn’t know what to say. Things had been going so well. I wanted to believe him — so I did.
I let it go. Again.
Later that summer, he invited me on a family trip to Florida. It was beautiful, sun, sand, laughter. I felt sure I’d found forever.
Then came the drive home.
Thirteen hours on the highway. He asked me to drive. I wasn’t comfortable, but he insisted. When I got anxious, his frustration turned sharp.
I don’t remember every word, but I remember how it made me feel…small, stupid, unworthy.
I cried silently the rest of the drive.
That night, he apologized. Well, sort of. He explained how my behavior caused his reaction. Then, to smooth things over, he suggested dinner.
It started sweet with laughter, wine, and soft apologies. But before dessert, he brought up the drive again.
“You’re weak-minded,” he said. “Immature.”
I excused myself to the bathroom, cried until my lashes clumped, and came back only to whisper,
“I’m ready to go.”
The next morning, I flew home.
🧠 Love Bombs and Loneliness
He called. He missed me. He was sorry.
He always knew what to say.
I wanted to believe this was just a rough patch. That’s what love is, right? Working through the hard stuff?
A few months later, he invited me to Tennessee for Labor Day weekend. I jumped at the chance. More time together. More proof that we were okay.
I didn’t know it’d be the trip that shattered me.
We rode with his friends, eight people, two Black and one Black woman (me).
Someone decided to play “The Racial Draft.”
Black people like chicken and dance well.
White people can’t season food.
Someone’s wife said, “I think I’m on the Black team because I make good chicken and the best watermelon Kool-Aid!”
Everyone laughed.
I didn’t.
The banter went on for the rest of our drive with stereotypes flying one after the other.
When I told him I felt uncomfortable, he said,
“It’s just jokes. Don’t be so sensitive.”
So, I let it go.
Again.
At his friend’s house, I noticed he was distant…glued to his phone.
It just so happened that I sat directly behind him on our drive up so caught a glimpse of his phone each time he went to unlock it.
When he showered, I used the passcode I’d memorized.
At first, I found nothing. Call logs, texts, Facebook all clean.
Then I opened WhatsApp.
Her name was Jennifer.
A masseuse he’d met at a poker table.
They’d slept together and had been messaging all weekend. Explicitly.
I wanted to explode. But how? I had no car. No safe place to go.
I called my best friend. She calmed me down. I pretended through the rest of the trip. Smiling, socializing, dying inside.
When we got back, I confronted him. The pain poured out of me like lava.
He cried, apologized, changed his number, said it would never happen again.
And I believed him.
Because sometimes love isn’t about truth — it’s about the story we desperately want to keep living.
Such A Lucky Girl 
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