“She was alone,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t just ignore that.”
I didn’t argue. But I also couldn’t shake the truth that settled in my chest: compassion didn’t require disappearing.
It didn’t require leaving me in the dark. Since that day, something between us feels cracked. Not because I’m jealous — I know nothing romantic happened — but because I suddenly realized I don’t want to live feeling like a backup plan, like someone whose feelings can be brushed aside in the name of being “a good person.”
I don’t know if that means divorce… or if I’m being selfish for feeling this way at all.
I need clarity. I need advice. Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events.
Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance.
All images are for illustration purposes only.
