I shot her a sharp glance. “You think I don’t know that?” My voice cracked, and I hated how raw I sounded. “You think I don’t feel it every time I hear his voice outside my door? Every time I hear him say my name like it’s the only word that matters to him? You think I want to shut him out?”
Sylvia reached across the table, covering my trembling hand with hers. “Then why are you?”
A bitter laugh tore from my throat. “Because I have to.” My chest heaved. “Because if I let him back in, Syl, I’ll lose myself all over again. I’ll forget why I left in the first place. I’ll forgive him too easily, and then when he breaks me again, I’ll only have myself to blame.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I shoved a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together, but the emotions were a rising tide now, impossible to stop.
“I love him,” I whispered brokenly. “God help me, I love him so much it hurts to breathe, but I can’t survive another heartbreak. I swore to myself — I swore to you — that I’d protect my heart this time. And that means not letting him near it.”
Sylvia was quiet for a long moment. She squeezed my hand before letting go, leaning back in her chair with a sad, thoughtful expression.
“I get it,” she murmured. “I really do. But Brit… you should see him. He’s not the same. He’s…” She shook her head, swallowing hard. “He’s unraveling without you.”
A sob nearly escaped my throat, but I forced it down, pressing a trembling hand to my mouth.
“Don’t,” I croaked. “Please, Syl. Don’t make me feel sorry for him. Don’t make me second-guess myself.”
Sylvia hesitated, and then her eyes softened. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I’ll back off.”
We sat in aching silence.
But that night, as I lay in bed, Sylvia’s words circled in my mind like restless ghosts.
He’s unraveling without you.
I hated myself for wondering what he was doing right then. For wondering if he was sitting on his couch in the dark, head in his hands, chest aching the way mine was. For wondering if he was sleeping — or if, like me, he was lying there wide awake, drowning in memories.
I hated that I could still feel him. Still sense the echo of his laugh, the rough edge of his voice whispering in my ear, the weight of his arms wrapped around me in the middle of the night.
I curled into a ball, burying my face in the pillow. My heart screamed his name, even when my lips refused to.
The days passed. He kept showing up. And I kept pretending not to notice.
I’d see his car parked across the street when I left for work — him slouched in the driver’s seat, running his hands through his hair, eyes fixed on my door. I knew he waited just to catch a glimpse of me, just to remind me he was there.
Some nights I’d hear him pacing outside, the faint sound of his voice murmuring to himself.
“Come on, Brittany. Just open the damn door. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words would land like stones in my stomach.
And every time, I stayed frozen in place, back pressed to the wall, silent tears streaking down my cheeks.
I didn’t know how long this could go on.
I didn’t know how long I could go on.
One evening, Sylvia knocked on my door again, stepping inside with a heavy sigh.
“He’s outside,” she said quietly, dropping her purse onto the counter. “Again.”
I didn’t look up from the dishes I was washing.
“Brittany.” Her voice was soft but insistent. “He’s sitting on the steps. Head in his hands. He looks… broken. More than usual.”
A sharp pain sliced through my chest. My knees almost buckled, but I gripped the sink to steady myself.
Sylvia stepped closer. “Are you sure you don’t want to just… talk to him?”
