When a man cheats, somehow the woman still ends up sitting for an examination she never registered for.
There is a strange pattern that begins whenever a woman discovers that the man she loved has been unfaithful. First, we ask what he did. Then, almost immediately, we ask what she did wrong. Comments like this echo: Was she too trusting? Too busy? Too needy? Too sexual? Not sexual enough? Too focused on her career? Too focused on marriage? Did she ignore the red flags? Did she choose him too quickly? Did she let herself go? Was she too beautiful and therefore intimidating? Somehow, a man can make the active decision to cheat and still leave the woman standing trial for his decision.
We have turned female heartbreak into an examination of the woman’s flaws. And the recent conversation around TikTok influencer Audrey, whose fiancé Presh was reportedly exposed as a serial cheater, is a particularly revealing example of this phenomenon. Presh has received backlash, as he should. But alongside the criticism of his behaviour came another conversation: Audrey’s apparent desire for marriage. Videos of her talking about wanting a husband and building a life with a partner resurfaced, and suddenly her longing became evidence against her. She was described by some as “marriage-centred,” with the implication that perhaps her desire for marriage had made her overlook Presh’s red flags.
But this is not really about Audrey. In fact, it would be a mistake to make it about her. What we do know is that she yearned to find a partner worth doing forever with. What we don’t know is what she saw, what she was told, what she questioned, what she believed, or what was deliberately hidden from her. Relationships are intimate ecosystems, and strangers on the internet are rarely qualified to reconstruct them from a handful of videos.
When global pop star and rapper Megan Thee Stallion suggested that her partner, Klay Thompson, had been unfaithful, the internet was quick to suggest that she was simply too “loud” for him—that her mannerisms had somehow embarrassed or pushed him away. The details of these relationships may differ, but the cultural reflex is remarkably consistent: a man’s betrayal becomes an invitation to investigate the woman.When there are no apparent answers, we wonder, “How can a man cheat on such a woman?” The answer stares right back at us: because they chose to. And that choice belongs to him, not to the woman he partnered with.
We need to become more comfortable with a deceptively simple truth: sometimes, there is nothing the woman could have done differently. We need to resist the urge to turn every man’s betrayal into a lesson for the woman. We can teach women to choose their partners carefully without teaching them that they are responsible for the choices those partners make. We can encourage women to have standards, boundaries and discernment without selling them the comforting fiction that any of these things can make them betrayal-proof.
The Woman Is Always Called to the Witness Stand
One of the most exhausting things about being a woman is discovering how many ways society has invented to hold you responsible for the actions of other people. There is almost always an explanation that begins with the woman and ends with the man. And it is a particularly seductive form of victim-blaming because it disguises itself as advice. “Women need to learn to spot red flags.” “Don’t ignore your intuition.” “Never put a man on a pedestal.” “Don’t make marriage your entire personality.” “Don’t be too available.” “Don’t stop being desirable after marriage.”
Some of this advice can be useful in isolation. Of course women should have boundaries. Of course we should pay attention to patterns of behaviour. Of course self-awareness matters when choosing a partner. But there is a crucial distinction between saying “learn to choose carefully” and saying “if he betrays you, you must have chosen badly.” The first is wisdom. The second is a fantasy of control. Because sometimes you can choose carefully and still be betrayed; You can date for five years and still discover something devastating in year six; You can have every conversation about values, fidelity, boundaries and the future, and the person sitting opposite you can still lie. There is no combination of beauty, sex, submission, independence, vigilance or emotional intelligence that makes a person betrayal-proof. Faithfulness is a choice made by the person being faithful. You cannot control whether your partner cheats. You can only control what you do once you know.
Good Judgement Does Not Come With a Guarantee
And this is where the conversation should shift. We can teach women to choose their partners carefully without teaching them that they are responsible for the choices those partners make. We can tell women to leave unhealthy relationships without implying that staying caused the betrayal. We can encourage women to have standards, boundaries and discernment without turning them into a promise that the right woman can prevent the wrong man from hurting her. The problem with making the betrayed woman responsible for the betrayal is that it offers us a comforting illusion: that if we are careful enough, desirable enough, perceptive enough, we can make ourselves impossible to betray. But there is no such woman. You can be attentive without being suspicious. You can have standards without being cynical. You can ask the difficult questions, notice the red flags, leave when something feels wrong and still be blindsided by someone you trusted. You can be a good partner and still be partnered with someone who makes a bad choice.
And perhaps that is the lesson we find hardest to accept because it leaves us with so little control. It is much easier to dissect the woman—her clothes, her personality, her career, her desire for marriage, her sex life, her “mistakes”—than to confront the uncomfortable reality that another person can simply choose to hurt you. So when a woman is betrayed, perhaps the first question should not be, What did she do wrong? Perhaps it should be: What did he choose to do? There will be time for the woman to decide what she wants to do next. Those are questions about her agency, her boundaries and her future—not evidence to be presented in a trial about how she caused what happened.
We should still teach women discernment. We should still talk about red flags. We should still encourage people to choose their partners carefully. But we should stop pretending that good judgement comes with a guarantee. Because sometimes the most honest explanation is also the least satisfying one: you did not fail some invisible test. You were simply betrayed by someone who made a choice that was his to make. And perhaps we should let the shame belong there, too.
