I lowered myself to the left, close enough to be near but far enough to give her space.
We sat in silence, letting the quiet speak for us both. This was usually the moment she’d push me away. Tell me she didn’t need me, that my presence only made things heavier. That I should just leave her alone.
In the early years, I stayed anyway. Stubbornly.
Eventually, I learned to listen. So I left.
And I swallowed the hurt, letting desperation and frustration quietly fester inside me.
After a while, I started talking back, disappointment clouding my judgment. It turned into fights, and soon we stopped speaking to each other altogether. Coldness settled between us, and we let the distance take over.
But that’s where I got it wrong. I realized that now.
Because even when she didn’t ask, even when she pushed me away, I knew my presence mattered. For someone like her, who kept everything in, silence was her way of coping. And sometimes, just being there for her was enough—especially for moments like this.
And I should’ve stayed.
So this time, I stayed.
I waited for her to tell me to leave, like she always did.
But the words never came.
And that surprised me.
A few minutes later, something unexpected happened.
She got up and walked over to me, then quietly sank to the floor by my side.
I wanted to try something. My heart pounded with a mix of hope and uncertainty. I needed to know if she would let me in. So, without a word, I extended my arm, palm open. A silent offer. A question I didn’t dare speak aloud.
I didn’t expect much.
But then she reached out, placing her hand gently over mine.
I curled my fingers around hers, careful and slow. Her hand was small, soft, the way I remembered.
And then I closed my eyes, forcing myself not to overthink, not to dissect the moment like I usually did with her. I couldn’t remember ever simply letting it be or allowing myself to enjoy it.
This time, I let it be.
We stayed like that in silence. I listened as her breathing began to steady—quiet and even.
After a few minutes, she pulled her hand away from mine.
We stood, wordless, and stepped back into the elevator.
When it opened on our floor, she stepped out, then paused and turned slightly.
“I’ve found a divorce lawyer,” she said, her voice steady and calm once more. “I’m going to see this through. You should get one too.”
My eyes met hers, and a flood of emotions crashed over me.
I swallowed hard and forced the words out. “Okay. I’ll let you know when I find one.”
She didn’t say anything, just turned and walked away.
I stood still, watching her go.
