Six months ago, she left without saying goodbye.
No explanation, no warning-just gone, like we were something she could walk away from.
That's when my whole world fell apart.
Suddenly my life is curfews and check-ins, a tag around my ankle, every decision monitored, every hour accounted for.
Controlled. Grey in a way that never really lifts.
Everything is smaller than it used to be.
But now, she's back.
Back in my town. Back in my line of sight.
Back in the cottage where we spent too many days and nights to let it mean nothing.
With the wrong man's ring on her finger and a future that isn't ours.
It should be simple.
I should stay away. Let her have the life she chose-and take what's left of me with her.
Instead, I keep showing up.
Because being near her again is the same as it always was-too much, too fast, like something pulling tight between us that neither of us knows how to cut.
Like we never stopped.
Like we couldn't if we tried.
She's hiding something; I can feel it.
It doesn't change anything.
I know what this costs.
I know exactly what I'm risking.
I just don't know how to stop being hers.
Forever and Always.