“I was there the best I could, but you weren’t allowing me in. I tried calling. I texted. I sent things to let you know that even though I wasn’t physically here, my presence was.”

“I didn’t need your gifts, Ryot. I needed you.”

“And I told you, if I could have been here, I would have been. Do you think I like coming back here to see that your fucking mother has struck you? To hear that you’ve been going through hell? No. It pains me, Myla. It makes me fucking ill, and the fact that you wouldn’t tell me, you wouldn’t let me in, how can I be there for you if you don’t let me?”

She looks away and hugs her legs closer.

“Myla, talk to me.”

Tears roll down her cheeks, but she doesn’t attempt to wipe them. “Just go, Ryot.”

“I’m not leaving. You’re my girlfriend, and I’ll be damned—”

“Not anymore,” she says, catching me off guard.

I rear back and ask, “What do you mean, not anymore?” When she doesn’t answer, I continue, “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Let’s not make a big deal about it, okay?” She swipes at her snotty nose. “It’s obvious we were drifting apart.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? We weren’t drifting apart. We’ve been stronger than ever.” She cowers into herself, almost like a turtle trying to hide, and I realize at this moment, observing her body language and watching how she can’t make eye contact, that she’s not in a good place mentally. And raising my voice, trying to get her to talk to me about this, will only fall on deaf ears.

She’s not going to be receptive to what I have to say, and even though the last thing I want to do is leave this room knowing she’s breaking up with me, being here will only make it worse.

“Okay,” I say as I back away. “If you think we’re drifting apart, then I’m not going to push you on the matter.” More tears leak down her cheeks. “But I want you to know, Myla, that I fucking love you. More than anything. You are the love of my goddamn life, and I won’t rest until you realize that, until you know for damn sure that you and I . . . we’re never going to end. We are forever.” I move toward the door, my anger simmering at the base of my spine.

I don’t want to leave.

I don’t want her to think I’m abandoning her.

I don’t want her to think there is nothing left of us when I walk out this door.

But I’ve been with her long enough to understand the way she processes. She’s been triggered, and she’s in protection mode. I hurt her by not being here, so she’s eliminating the things that hurt her to find a healthy frame of mind.

Does it hurt? Yes.

Do I understand her? Yes.

Will I fight? Abso-fucking-lutely.