I thanked him for the feedback. God. I actually thanked him.
Back then I mistook criticism for support because I couldn’t imagine love looking any different.
Now I do.
“I don’t think I’m the one embarrassing myself,” I say quietly, and the sentence leaves my mouth before I have time to soften it.
Silence stretches between us again but this time it feels different. He’s no longer trying to convince me. He’s trying to understand why the old version of me isn’t answering the phone anymore.
For the first time since this conversation began, I don’t feel like I have to be defensive, guilty or angry.
I simply feel exhausted.
There is a strange sense of peace in realising someone has finally lost the ability to make you question your own reality.
Outside my office, the city carries on exac
