When he left, it was messy. No clear conversation, no explanation. Just silence. I was stuck in this loop—refreshing his social media, reading old messages, wondering what I did wrong. What I really wanted wasn’t even for us to get back together—I just needed him to see me, to acknowledge the pain.
At some point I got tired of checking his page. Instead, I started writing letters I never planned to send. Every night I’d write something like, “I still don’t get it, but I’m trying,” and I always ended with: “I understand now. I release you.”
It was awkward at first, and I didn’t really believe it. But after a few weeks, I noticed I was less anxious. I even skipped a night. That same night, out of nowhere, he texted me. Not to apologize. Just to say he had started therapy and was beginning to understand how he’d hurt people in the past—including me.
We didn’t get back together. But that night, I slept straight through for the first time in three months.