She just thanked me, hugged me gently, and walked back into the night. And I, I finally closed the door on a version of myself I had long outgrown. The wedding never happened not as they planned, anyway.
They scrambled to find another venue, but everything was either booked or far too expensive without the money I had once promised. According to Luke, they ended up doing a small backyard ceremony weeks later, just a few relatives and Andrew’s parents. I wasn’t invited.
And this time, I didn’t need to be. In the weeks that followed, Emily sent one more email. A long one.
Emotional. Half apology half justification. I read it once, then archived it.
I wasn’t angry anymore, just done. There’s a strange peace that comes with letting go not in rage, but in clarity. For the first time in decades, I woke up not wondering who needed something from me.
Not bracing for another guilt trip disguised as love. I made a new rule for myself. If my presence is negotiable, then so is my effort.
I go to work. I read novels. I joined a pottery class.
I have dinner with friends who see me, not what I can give them. And I’ve learned something I wish I’d known sooner. You don’t have to burn yourself to keep others warm.
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Sometimes, the strongest kind of love, is the one you finally give to yourself.