I replayed her message more times than I care to admit, listening for hesitation that wasn’t there. She sounded lighter without me, as if my absence had cleared space for better lighting, better angles, better company. Watching her pose with people who barely knew her favorite color, I understood: I was no longer part of the story she wanted to tell about herself. I carried her secrets; they carried the right wardrobe. That was enough to tip the scale.
Still, love doesn’t switch off just because respect does. When she eventually calls, I will answer, but I won’t offer the same unguarded version of myself. I will hold back what I once gave freely. Not to punish her, but to protect what’s left of me. One day, when the applause fades and the photos blur, she may finally notice which faces are missing — and why they’re not coming back.
