I know I should forgive, but my heart won't

I taught in a small school in Bursa for forty years. I still wake at fajr, make strong tea, and find chalk dust under my nails on lazy mornings. A man I trusted, someone I welcomed into my home once, spread a lie that cost me respect and a little income. People stopped inviting me to the kahve. I know the prayers about forgiveness, and I tell myself to let it go. I have even said the words out loud. But at night, on the bus to the market, the memory tightens my chest like a knot. I am trying to be honest: I cannot make my heart forgive. Has anyone else carried something like this? How did you live with it?