It’s surgery.
No anesthesia.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Just an email notification.
Nothing important.
But my heart still jumps.
And that’s when it hits me.
Not the spying.
Not the betrayal.
Not even the lying.
This.
This feeling.
This constant brace.
This waiting for the next thing.
This isn’t love.
Love isn’t supposed to feel like surveillance.
I sit there a little longer.
Head down.
Breathing.
Letting it hurt.
Because if I don’t let it hurt now, I’m never going to leave.
And for the first time?—
Not angry.
Not dramatic.
Not impulsive.
Just quiet and certain?—
I think:
I have to get out.
Not because I don’t love her.
Because I do.
