We signed that lease on our tiny city apartment like it actually meant something.
A fresh start. New dreams.
We even picked out those cliché “His” and “Hers” mugs. I rolled my eyes at how corny it was. He said it was adorable.
Most nights, we’d eat dollar-slice pizza sitting cross-legged on the floor, daydreaming about the life we couldn’t yet afford. Places we’d travel. Dogs we’d rescue. A future that felt almost tangible.
So when I stumbled on that folded letter wedged behind the couch cushions, I wasn’t snooping—I was just tidying up.
But there it was.
A goodbye.
Written to me. Already sealed in ink.
He’d never planned to stay.
The letter said he felt “stuck.” That he “loved me,” but missed his old life. That he’d already booked a flight—leaving at the end of the month.
I dropped the letter, frozen on the spot, surrounded by all the pieces of a future I thought we were crafting together.
And like some cruel punchline, he walked through the door at that exact moment—grocery bag in hand, wearing a smile like everything was fine.
“Hey,” he said, setting the bag down casually. His tone was easy, like nothing had just crumbled.
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t, really. My throat felt like it had locked shut. So I just held up the letter, crumpled slightly, dangling from my fingers like proof of a betrayal.
His expression changed in an instant. First confusion, then guilt, then full-blown panic.
“It’s not what you think,” he said quickly, moving toward me.
“Oh no?” I said, voice cracking. “Because it sure looks like a detailed itinerary for how you’re leaving me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, started pacing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to say it. Face to face, I mean. I knew you’d try to change my mind—or worse, make me feel guilty.”
“You don’t think you should feel guilty? After everything we’ve built here?”
He slumped onto the edge of our secondhand couch. “It’s not about guilt. It’s about feeling trapped. I need air, space… something different.”
I stared at him, trying to reconcile this version of him with the one who said he wanted forever.
“And what about us?” I whispered.
He looked away. “Maybe we moved too fast. Maybe I’m not ready for all this.”
And just like that, the floor gave out beneath my feet. Not because it was a surprise—but because saying it out loud made it real. Permanent.