When I Let You Go

Chapter 3

The apartment felt too big, too quiet after he left. His suitcase was gone. The faint smell of his cologne was slowly fading. Every part of the place seemed to hold a ghost of him, now painfully missing. His coffee mug was still on the counter, a silent reminder of what I had done.

Friends called, excited. "So happy for you two!" Each time someone said "you two", it felt like a fresh cut. I gave vague answers, talked about small delays, needing more time to get ready. It was easier than trying to explain the huge hole that had opened between us. How do you tell people who only saw you as a pair that you had willingly pulled yourselves apart?

I threw myself into my work. My camera became a way to deal with my sadness, a shield against the silence. I took pictures of everything, the busy market, the quiet old houses, the quick beauty of a sunrise over the ocean. Every click was a small fight against the emptiness, a desperate try to prove to myself that I could be on my own, that I hadn't made a mistake.

But the nights were the hardest. The bed felt too big, too cold. I'd lie awake, going over our last talk in my head, picking apart every word. Did I say enough? Too much? Should I have tried harder? Should I have just gone, even if it meant feeling lost, just to be with him?, the "what ifs" were like a constant wave, threatening to pull me under.

Then, the first postcard came, a picture of a lively city square in Europe. On the back, in Liam's familiar handwriting, just a few words: "It's beautiful here. Missing you. – L."

My hand shook as I held it, his simple words felt heavy with longing, and maybe, a bit of blame. He was there, living his dream, and I was here, trying to live in the huge empty space he'd left. Letting go wasn't just one thing I did, it was a slow, painful process of learning how to live in a world where "we" didn't exist anymore.