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If it was even possible.

Something I very much doubted.

I tried to think pragmatically about the breakup, to use logic and reason, but it was so fucking hard when my heart was splattered at her feet.

I couldn’t be the better person, and I couldn’t turn the other cheek this time.

Because it hurt too much.

Because this was it.

If I took her back, this was how it would be for me, and I deserved more.

I loved her enough to stay, I adored her enough to hang on in there, but until when?

When did this end?

What happened when she had another episode?

Would she cheat on me again?

Would I receive another influx of text messages from concerned teammates, telling me about the rumors they’d heard about my girlfriend?

What if I stayed with her and this continued into college and beyond?

What about when we were married and had children?

Would I still have to live like this?

Would I be able to?

And how was I supposed to explain this to the children we shared?

Where was the line?

This, I suddenly realized.

This was the line, the limit, and the breaking point.

This was where we parted.

This was the part where I left the sinking ship.

After her apology, Liz kept texting, kept apologizing, kept phoning.

I had to turn my phone off because it was breaking my heart to ignore her.

When I told her to erase my number, I hadn’t meant it.

But I wasn’t strong enough to handle the aftermath.

Everything inside of me wanted to rush back to her, but I couldn’t.

“Hugh.” My father’s voice infiltrated my thoughts, and I spun around from where I was packing my lunch to find him sitting at the kitchen table. “Sit down, son.”

“Can’t,” I deadpanned, retraining my attention on my lunch. “I have to catch the bus for school.”

“Please, Hugh,” he pushed. “We need to have a little father-son chat. I’ll drive you to school after.”

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