She just saw someone isolated in noise and stood beside him.
My chest tightens.
Because somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing that for what it was.
I stopped seeingher.
I brace both palms against the counter and bow my head, breath leaving me in a rough exhale.
I’ve spent so long protecting myself from being used.
I didn’t notice when that fear made me blind to the way she showed up—quietly, steadily, without asking for anything in return.
And worse.
I didn’t notice when I became the one who walked away first.
I sit down, my head in my hands. Thinking of how stupid I am.
My phone lights up with her name attached to clips, headlines, thumbnails frozen at the worst possible second. I try to set it down. My thumb betrays me.
Play.
She’s sitting forward in the chair, hands folded too tightly in her lap. Shoulders drawn in. The makeup is perfect. The posture is not. I know the difference now.
The interviewer asks about the tour first. About the pressure. About how she’s holding up.
Lila smiles. Polite. Professional. The smile she uses when she’s rationing herself.
I scroll forward.
The interviewer asks, “Are you and Cam still together?” and Lila freezes.
Just for a second.
Her breath catches. Barely visible. Barely anything.
“I…” she starts.
Then stops.
“I don’t know.”
That’s it.
No drama. No explanation. Just the truth, sitting there naked and unguarded.
My chest caves in.
I thought I was giving her space. I thought I was protecting her from my mess. From me.
Instead, I handed her uncertainty and called it restraint.
The clip ends. My phone goes dark.
I drag a hand down my face and exhale, rough and unsteady.
She stood beside me when the world was loud and cruel.
