Seriously. Come.
Even if it’s just for a long weekend.
You need a reset.
Send me what you’re looking at. I’ll book it.
My eyes sting. It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t know me like that.
But the way he says it—you need a reset. Like it’s obvious.
Like it’s allowed.
The idea of it is freeing. I can almost feel the sense of relief.
Something in my chest cracks open. And the offer—just like that, no hesitation. I can’t remember the last time anything was offered to me without conditions attached.
Without something expected back.
I should text a friend to reality check this. To tell me if this is insane. Someone who would ground me.
But instead, for one second, I let myself feel it. What it would be like to be chosen. Taken care of. Wanted without being evaluated.
Me:
I might actually cry. I feel like I haven’t breathed properly in months.
I immediately regret sending it—he must think I’m a complete basket case at this point—but he replies instantly, before I can unsend.
Soren:
Then let me take care of it.
My stomach flips, sharp. Like I nearly stepped off something high.
Let me take care of it.
I should question that. I should slow down.
Men don’t fix things. They break them.
But this doesn’t feel like that. It feels… easy.Tooeasy. Like slipping into something warm. Like being remembered.
I glance at the door even though it’s closed, because my body still expects interruption. Still braces for it.
“Just get out,” I whisper.
I click the cheapest flight.Don’t overthink it.If I stop, I won’t do it.
I know that pattern too well. I’ll rationalize. Minimize. Tell myself I’m dramatic. Tell myself I can survive a little longer. And then I’ll look up and realize I lost another year.
I go to take a screenshot, and the door handle moves.
I freeze. Everything in me goes still. My heart slams so hard it hurts.
The handle turns. The door opens.
I snap the laptop shut. Too fast. Too loud.