Just like I’m not enough for Dylan.
But something feels different this time. The pain is there, yes, but underneath it is something else. Something that surprisingly feels like clarity.
I get out of the car, grab my gift bag, and head up to my apartment. Jhett greets me at the door, his entire body wiggling with excitement. I drop to my knees and bury my face in his fur, letting his unconditional love wash over me.
“At least someone’s always happy to see me,” I murmur against his warm body.
After letting him out briefly and refilling his water bowl, I sit on the edge of my bed in the darkened apartment, staring at my phone. Garrett’s messages glow on the screen, demanding a response I’ve been unwilling to give.
But maybe it’s time.
Maybe it’s time to stop ignoring and start standing up for myself.
Before I can overthink it, I hit the call button.
He answers on the first ring.
“Chey? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
His voice—once so familiar, once capable of making my heart race—sounds different now. Smaller somehow. Or maybe I’m the one who’s changed.
“I know,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “I got your messages.”
“Oh.” He sounds surprised. “Well, I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking about us, about what happened. I made a mistake, Chey. I miss you.”
Six weeks ago, those words would have been everything I wanted to hear. Now they just ring hollow.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” He sounds confused. “Because we were good together. Because I love you.”
“No,” I say, the word coming out soft but firm. “We weren’t good together, Garrett. You were good, and I was ... whatever you needed me to be.”
“That’s not true—”
“Itistrue.” I stand up, pacing my bedroom as clarity continues to wash over me. “I changed my personality because you said I was too loud. I chased promotions I didn’t care about because you said I wasn’t ambitious enough. I stopped going to hockey games because you said it was too distracting. I was constantly trying to be the girl you wanted, and it was never enough.”
The line goes quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I don’t know where this is coming from.”
“It’s been there all along. I just didn’t want to see it.” I gather my courage. “I wanted to be the kind of girl you’d choose. But I’ve finally realized ... I don’t even like who I was when I was with you. So please stop texting me. I’m done.”
“Chey, wait—”
“Goodbye, Garrett.”
I hang up before he can say anything else, my hand shaking slightly but my mind surprisingly clear. I stare at my phone, my thumb hovering over his contact information. The block button glows like an exit sign. With one swift motion, I tap the screen and select “Block Contact.” I set my phone down on the nightstand and collapse on the edge of my bed, waiting for the wave of regret or second-guessing to hit me.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, something breaks inside me—not violently, but quietly, like ice thawing after a long winter. Tears begin to slide down my cheeks, but they don’t feel like the desperate sobs of heartbreak. They feel different. Cleansing. Like I’m finally releasing something I’ve been carrying for far too long.
I walk to my dresser where a small collection of photos is tucked into the mirror frame. Most are of me with Genna, with Jhett, and with the Williamston family. But there, in the corner, is one of me and Garrett from last New Year’s Eve. I pull it free and really look at it for the first time in months.
My smile doesn’t reach my eyes. My body is angled toward him, while his is straight at the camera. My hand rests on his arm, but he’s not touching me at all.
How did I not see it before?
How did I convince myself this was what real love looked like?
