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MidReal Story
Dirty Little Secret
Scenario:Jace, a guy from Texas, falls in love with a beautiful girl named lenna from Kalamazoo . The girl has blond hair with pink highlights and blue green eyes. The online site he's on is for recently divorced people. Jace recently divorced his wife Wilma after she cheated on him with his uncle
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Jace
He is a divorced man seeking a fresh start. He is adventurous, introspective, and hopeful. Jace moved to Michigan from Texas, seeking a new beginning after his divorce from Wilma. He met Lennox on a dating site for recently divorced people and quickly fell for her. Jace was surprised by how quickly he felt a deep connection with her, despite their initial online encounter. He was drawn to her beauty and infectious energy.
Lenna "Lennox" Johnson
She is a divorced woman from Kalamazoo, Michigan, with two children. She is optimistic, resilient, and charming. After her divorce from Eric, she joined a dating site for recently divorced individuals, where she met Jace. Lennox struggled financially but remained positive about finding love again. Her vibrant appearance and lively personality captivated Jace, leading to an immediate and intense attraction between them. She worked hard at her job and looked forward to starting college soon.
I never thought I’d be the guy to join one of those dating sites.
Especially after being divorced for less than a year.
But here I am, scrolling through profiles of women who all seem to like hiking and trying new craft beers.
I’m on a site meant for recently divorced people, which is probably why none of the profiles mention anything about their exes or baggage.
I don’t have much experience with online dating, but my friends who do it all seem to agree on one thing: everyone lies.
They exaggerate their height, weight, and interests in an attempt to land a date.
I can’t say I blame them.
It’s hard enough meeting someone you think could be compatible with you, let alone having to put yourself out there and risk getting hurt all over again.
I thought I was done with dating for a while.
At least until my divorce was finalized and I could start fresh.
But then I saw her.
Lennox Johnson.
Her profile picture is a selfie of her in front of Lake Michigan on a sunny day.
She’s smiling and her blond hair is blowing in the wind, with a few pink highlights visible from behind her sunglasses.
Her eyes are blue green, like the ocean on a tropical island I’ve never been to but would love to visit someday.
I stare at my phone, my heart racing as the notification pops up.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous.
My thumb hovers over the message, but I can’t bring myself to open it.
I remember how her profile picture caught my eye.
I was scrolling through profiles of women who all looked the same, with their perfectly styled hair and makeup, when I saw her.
She was different from the others, with her natural beauty and effortless smile.
I clicked on her profile and read through her interests and hobbies.
She loves hiking and trying new foods, which are two things I enjoy doing as well.
I also noticed that she has a dog, which is a big plus in my book.
I’ve always wanted a dog, but my ex-wife wasn’t a fan of animals in the house.
When I saw that Lennox had a dog, I knew I had to send her a message. The cursor blinks at me mockingly as I stare at the message on my screen.
"hello sir I'm lenna"
Seeing her name makes my palms sweat, and I wipe them on my jeans before picking up my phone again.
I try to think of something witty to say, but nothing comes to mind.
The cursor continues to blink at me as I type out a few different responses and then delete them all.
Finally, I decide to go with something simple: "hello"
I stare at my phone screen, watching the three dots dance as she types out her response.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard as I wait for her to finish.
I can’t help but think about Wilma and how she betrayed me.
I never thought I’d be on a dating app, but here I am.
The interface is foreign to me, with all these smiling faces of people who have been through similar pain.
When her message finally pops up, I smile at the formal "kind sir."
It’s different from Wilma’s casual texting style, and somehow that small detail matters.
"Do you always greet people like that, or am I just special?" I type back, trying to keep it light.
Her response is quick, "Only for those who look like they need a little extra charm in their day."
I chuckle, feeling a warmth I haven't felt in months, and reply, "Well, mission accomplished—I'm officially charmed."
After our playful exchange about her formal greeting, I notice a photo of a large brown dog on her profile.
The image shows the dog sprawled across what looks like a well-worn leather couch, its tongue lolling out in a happy grin.
Curious about this potential common ground, I click back to our chat window.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I debate how to phrase the question casually.
Finally, I type, "That's a beautiful dog in your profile pic. What's their name?"
While waiting for her response, I scroll through more photos of the dog.
It seems to be a constant companion in many of her outdoor shots by Lake Michigan.
I click through more photos of the brown dog while waiting for Lennox to elaborate.
The screen shows she's typing, then stopping, then typing again.
Her message finally pops up: "His name is Dunn."
Before I can respond, another message appears: "OMG wait."
I lean forward in my chair, intrigued by the sudden shift in her response.
Another message pops up: "My dog just found a dirty diaper in the park."
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I read her words.
It's a small glimpse into her real life, a moment of chaos amidst our carefully crafted online chat.
I stare at my phone screen, debating whether to ask the question that's been nagging at me.
After our easy conversation about Dunn, I type out "What led to your divorce?" and hit send before I can overthink it.
The typing indicator appears and disappears several times.
Finally, her response pops up: "My ex-husband Eric couldn't stand my hair. Said the pink highlights made me look desperate and immature."
She sends another message: "He tried controlling everything about my appearance until I couldn't recognize myself anymore."
I pause, absorbing her words, then type back, "I'm sorry you went through that. No one should have to change who they are for someone else."
Her reply is swift, "Thank you. It's been a journey, but I'm finally starting to feel like myself again."
I nod at the screen, feeling a connection deepen as I respond, "I'm glad you're finding your way back. You deserve to be celebrated for who you truly are."
I stare at my phone screen, the late evening light casting shadows across my living room.
The question hangs in the air: "What about you, Jace? What led to your divorce?"
I type and delete, then type again.
Finally, I force myself to share my story.
My fingers tremble slightly as I describe walking in on Wilma and Uncle Boris at the family barbecue last summer.
The betrayal cuts deep, a wound that still aches.
I hit send, waiting anxiously for Lennox's response.
Minutes tick by as I pace around my apartment, touching the empty spaces where family photos once hung.
I watch the notification pop up on my screen, my chest tightening as I read her response: "Oh my gosh."
The words feel genuine, different from the awkward sympathy others showed after the divorce.
She sends another message: "Don't type god."
I pause, the cursor blinking in the text box.
Her request is specific, personal, like the dirty diaper story.
I type out a question: "Is it a religious thing?"
I lean back in my office chair, the ceiling fan whirring above me.
The question hangs in the air, and I wait for her response.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to type again.
But I want to give her time to process.
After a few minutes, she responds: "Yeah."
I nod at the screen, processing her confirmation.
Religion isn't something I've thought much about lately.
Growing up, Wilma made us attend church gatherings every Sunday.
But after she used those gatherings as a cover for meeting Uncle Boris, my faith wavered.
I type out another question: "What kind?"
I'm not sure if it's too forward, but she's been open with me so far.
Her reply is immediate: "The kind that lets me be myself."