I didn’t understand what was happening to me — or to us.

He said he loved me. I believed him. But love wasn’t translating. Not in the way we spoke. Not in the way we misunderstood each other over and over again. I kept wondering: Is it me? Am I asking too much?

But I was asking for clarity. For steadiness. For relief from the looping conversations and the weight of being the emotional compass in the room.

There were days I felt like I was losing my mind. Then days I was sure I was the only one trying to keep us afloat.

This is the story I needed but couldn’t find when I was in the thick of it. A story about love — and language. About what it means to stay. And what it costs us when we keep pretending that everything’s fine.