Sophie’s name lit up the screen.
I did not answer.
I could not hear her voice, even in background. I could not risk it. If I did, I would crumble. I would beg her to stay. I would ask her to forgive something unforgivable.
I did not deserve the chance to explain myself.
I turned the phone off.
The drive out of town blurred. Streetlights smeared into streaks of yellow and white. Familiar roads felt hostile now, like they were pushing me away.
I thought about my parents. My brother. The wedding that wasn’t going to happen. And the one person I couldn’t call anymore.
I thought about the way Claire had looked at me when she realized what she was seeing.
That look stayed.
I pulled over at some point and sat with my forehead against the steering wheel, my breath fogging the glass. The silence roared in my ears.
I repeated to myself.I was doing the right thing.
That leaving would make it easier for her. That she would not have to make a decision. That she would not have to choose between loving me and protecting herself.
I told myself that distance was a kindness.
I did not want to face the other truth.
That I was running because I could not stand to be apart from her.
Because if I stayed, I would have to watch her rebuild herself without me. I would have to live with the consequences of my actions every day, in every shared space, under the eyes of a town that had always known exactly who I was.
I was not strong enough for that.
So, I did the only thing I could.
I drove until the sky began to lighten, until the night gave way to a pale, exhausted dawn. I stopped at a motel off the highway and slept for a few hours fully clothed, my dreams fractured and restless.
When I woke, the weight was still there.
It never lifted.
I sent messages to my family instead of calling. I kept my words brief. Apologetic. Vague.
I told them I had messed up. I did not tell them what I had done.
I could not bear to put it into words yet. Naming it would make it real in a way I was not ready to face.
I let them fill in the blanks.
I told myself Claire would heal faster without me. That she would find someone kinder. Better.
I told myself she would eventually be grateful that I had removed myself from her life.
The truth was simpler and uglier.
I hated myself too much to stay.
And so, I carried the story like a closed fist for years, refusing to open it
