'My cousin encouraged me to leave my abusive husband. Years later, her betrayal blindsided me.'

As told to Ann DeGrey

When my marriage ended, it was my cousin Abbie* who really helped me keep myself together. As first cousins, we've always been close; our mums are sisters, and we lived in the same suburb growing up.

Abbie was my bridesmaid, the second person I told when I was pregnant, and the one I called during those awful nights when my marriage started to fall apart.

I confided in her about everything; she knew about my then-husband's controlling ways, how he'd police what I wore, how much I spent, the friends I caught up with.

He'd demand to see my texts and emails, and he'd make nasty comments about my appearance that chipped away at my confidence.

He controlled our finances so tightly that I had to ask him before buying groceries. He'd blow up over nothing, then act like I was the problem.

Watch: Coercive control is a deliberate pattern of abuse. Post continues after video.

He was never physically abusive, but the emotional abuse was unbearable. It was just a constant, sick feeling in my stomach. That quiet fear of doing something "wrong."

Abbie saw it all and she was angry for me. She called him toxic, manipulative, and said I deserved so much better. She was the one who told me, over and over, that it wasn't "just a bad marriage," it was abuse.

She even came with me to see a lawyer when I was too anxious to go alone. When I finally left him, she helped me pack up all my belongings and helped me move into an apartment.

So you can imagine my shock when, two years later, I found out she was still in contact with him! It happened by accident.

I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw her tagged in a photo at a dinner party. There he was, grinning at the end of the table. I stared at the screen for a long time, thinking maybe it was an old post. But no. It was dated just a few days ago.

I called her right away and asked her about it, expecting some kind of explanation. Maybe she'd been invited and didn't know he'd be there. Maybe she'd left early. But instead, she was weirdly defensive.

"He's not all bad. And besides, it wasn't physical abuse, right? It wasn't domestic violence." That comment absolutely floored me.

She'd once been the person who made me realise that what I'd gone through was domestic violence and now she was downplaying it.

Suddenly, every recent interaction with her made more sense; the way she'd roll her eyes when I brought him up, the way she'd change the subject if I called him my abusive ex. At the time, I thought she just wanted me to move on.

Now I realise she no longer believed me!

I started thinking about all the personal things I'd told her and wondering how much of it she might have shared with him. Had she repeated things I said? Had she told him I still cried about him sometimes, or that I was struggling financially?

Some people don't understand coercive control. They think abuse only "counts" if it leaves visible scars. But the scars I carry are real.

I still flinch when someone raises their voice. I still double-check my tone in emails. I still feel like I need to explain myself, all the time, for no reason. That's the legacy he left me.

I invited her to my place recently and confronted her about her friendship with my abusive ex. But when I pressed her, she gave me this half-hearted excuse about how he's working in real estate now and she's thinking of buying an investment property, so she's been "picking his brain."

As if that somehow made it okay. I stared at her, stunned. This wasn't some casual acquaintance; this was the man who used to check my bank statements and question every cent I spent. She said it wasn't "personal," just "practical."

But to me, it feels like betrayal wrapped up in small talk. It's as though she's traded my pain for property advice and thought I'd be fine with that.

I haven't cut her off, but we've definitely drifted apart, which causes me so much pain. I don't call her when I'm sad anymore. I just don't trust her the way I once did.

And I really miss her. The person I leaned on during my difficult times is gone, and now she's someone I barely recognise.

Someone who jokes with my ex in comment sections and shrugs off what I went through like it was just a rough patch. I felt sick knowing the person who helped me through the hardest time of my life has now aligned themselves with the very person who caused that pain.

*Names have been changed due to privacy.

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but remained anonymous for privacy purposes.

Feature Image: Getty.