Outside His Shadow

​The air in the room felt heavy, hands shaky. I looked at him, searching for even a flicker of the warmth I had spent years chasing, but Micheal’s eyes were cold, and utterly unreachable. The clock on the wall ticked with a rhythmic cruelty, counting down the seconds of a silence that had lasted far too long. I glanced at the silver-framed photo on the side table—a snapshot of us from a summer ago. He was looking at the camera, but his gaze was as distant then as it was now. ​"We already had this conversation years ago," he snapped, his voice cutting through my thoughts like a blade. He didn't even look at me as he loosened his tie, his movements brisk and bored. "And here we are, going over it again. Aren't you tired, Olivia?" ​My heart stuttered, a dull ache blooming in my chest. I think my heart is in my mouth. "What's so wrong with that?" I whispered. My hands were cold, trembling despite the heat in the apartment. "What's wrong with wanting to know where I stand after all this time?" ​He finally turned, a sneer curling his lip that made him look like a stranger. "I’m annoyed by the fact that you keep implying I asked you to wait for me. I never said anything of the sort." ​It felt like a physical blow. The air left my lungs in a sharp wheeze, and for a moment, the room blurred. I remembered three years ago, standing in this same spot, convinced that if I just supported him through his father’s illness and his promotion, he would finally see me. I had built a shrine out of my patience, and he was currently tearing it down without a second thought. ​"I never said you asked me to wait," I said, my voice rising as the tears I had been holding back began to burn. "I told you I would wait for you. You knew it. You watched me do it for three years. You accepted my time, my care, my late-night calls when you were stressed... you knew I was waiting. You didn't stop me because it was convenient for you, wasn't it?" ​I took a desperate step toward him, needing him to see the wreck he was making of me. ​"I don't know why the person I love doesn't consider my feelings. Even after pouring my heart out, you still don’t see why your actions—your silence—are so hurtful. Why are you so angry that I'm waiting for you to be ready? Why is my love a burden to you now?" ​He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was a sharp, jagged sound that echoed off the expensive, empty walls. "We are not dating, are we?" ​The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The floor felt unsteady beneath my feet. ​"Maybe I'm the one who needs clarity at this point," he continued, looking at me with an indifference that was more painful than hatred. ​"We aren't dating," I swallowed hard, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be hurt or happy by your actions... or your inactions. I’m a human being, Micheal. I’m not a statue you can just leave on a shelf until you decide you’re in the mood to look at it." ​He sighed, a long, weary sound as if I were a difficult child he was forced to deal with. ​"If we were dating, Olivia, this conversation would be justifiable. But we aren't. So, I really don't see the point in all this back and forth. You chose to wait; that’s on you, not me." ​He walked past me then, his shoulder brushing mine—a cold, incidental contact that told me everything his words hadn't. I had spent the best years of my youth waiting for a man who didn't even think I had the right to be hurt by him. ​I stood there long after the door to his study slammed shut, the silence of the room ringing in my ears. He was right. We weren't dating. I had given him the loyalty of a wife and the devotion of a lover, while he had given me nothing but the permission to stand in his shadow. ​I looked down at my phone. The screen lit up, showing a photo of him—the one I’d kept as my background for a thousand days. My fingers trembled as I went to the settings. ​Delete Contact. The confirmation popped up: Are you sure? ​"You're right, Micheal," I whispered to the empty hallway, a strange, cold calm finally settling over my heart. "There is no point in the back and forth anymore." ​I wasn't just tired of the conversation. For the first time in three years, I was finally, mercifully, tired of him.