“I didn’t see it coming. And I’m not talking about her death. That too. I thought I’d be able to save her and I failed. I hate that I failed. But what I really mean is I didn’t see that our love was not real. My love was. But it was mine, not ours. It was like waking up from a dream into a nightmare. Waking up to realize your person, the keeper of your heart, your secrets, your fears, everything that allows you to walk this earth with the knowledge that you matter, that the earth beneath your feet is solid because someone loves you … realizing none of it was ever real. And maybe even if it was, that you were not enough to keep it. Not enough to deserve it, perhaps. And you doubt yourself. The ground beneath your feet is gone. The weight of the hollowness inside you makes you think you’ll never catch your balance again. You wonder. How did I miss this? Does everybody know that love is not permanent, and they did not tell you? Or was it just me that failed to keep it? The cruelty of the betrayal is everywhere, in all you do. Other couples on the street are just illusions you can see with clarity now. With sneering callousness. They’ll learn, you think. They will learn the hard way.” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t be sure I was making sense and had a feeling I may have devolved into French every now and again when I couldn’t think of the English words, but I was sure the gist was intact.

I lapsed into silence, my breathing heavy, raw. For all I knew the call had been dropped. Or she’d hung up. But I was talking now. And I couldn’t stop, whether she heard it or not.