~ Harley ~
I wake up already angry.
Not because it’s Valentine’s Day.
Because I know he’s thinking about it.
And I hate that I know that.
The house is quiet. Darla left early for work. The kitchen still smells like coffee and toast, normal and safe and painfully average.
I sit at the table staring at my phone like it’s going to explode.
No messages.
No flowers.
No dramatic gestures.
He said he wouldn’t.
And he didn’t.
That should make me feel relieved.
It doesn’t.
It makes me restless.
By noon I’ve checked my email twice, my bank app once, and the porch three times like some pathetic cliché waiting for a surprise.
Nothing.
He meant it.
Space.
My Choice.
I hate how much that messes with my head.
By three in the afternoon my chest feels tight with something I don’t want
