Page 175 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

“Like what?”

“Like you’re somewhere else.”

I let out a small laugh, though it barely reached my chest.

“Maybe I am.”

Victor studied me for a second longer than usual. Then he took a sip of his wine.

And somehow, that hurt too.

He continued eating like he always did: calm, measured, composed.

And then suddenly, before I could stop myself⁠—

“What happened with us?” I asked.

Victor looked up.

Not startled but confused enough for his brows to pull together slightly.

“What do you mean?”

I swallowed.

“The last time,” I clarified carefully. “When we ended last year.”

Something shifted in his face then.

Not guilt.

Not sadness.

Guardedness.

Victor leaned back slightly in his chair, fork and knife still in his hands.

“We already talked about that before,” he said.

Not an answer.

I nodded slowly anyway.

“I don’t think we actually did,” I replied.

His jaw moved faintly, like he was thinking through his next response before speaking.

“James,” he said calmly, “it was a difficult time for both of us.”

Again—clean, polished, and careful enough to avoid the center of it.

I stared at him.

“A difficult time,” I repeated softly.

Victor gave a small nod, as if that summarized it well enough.

But my chest tightened instead, because suddenly I could feel it again: the months of depression, the unanswered messages, the panic attacks, the feeling of almost losing my entire life while trying to survive his punishment of silence.