“I don’t know what your plans are. But I know what I need. Let me know when you’re ready to talk,” she said, surprising herself with the steadiness of it. She needed to know what she was standing on. Without that, affection felt unsafe, a surface masking risks she could not measure or consent to.
She packed a small bag that night, choosing essentials without sentiment. Clothes, documents, chargers. The efficiency felt unreal. She avoided photographs. Leaving was easier when she pretended this was temporary, a pause for clarity, not a fracture that might widen beyond repair and redefine everything she believed about them.