Six years. That's how long Rachel and I had been together. We weren't married, but we lived like we were. Shared expenses, joint savings, but the mortgage was in my name. It was a Thursday morning when she said it.
I was making coffee when she leaned against the counter and said, "I think I need some time apart." I didn't look at her right away. I turned slowly. "Time apart?" I repeated.
She nodded, arms crossed. Yeah, I don't know. I just feel like I'm losing myself in this. I need to figure out who I am again. I didn't raise my voice.
I've always believed people show you who they are when you stay quiet. All right, I said. She blinked. Wait, what? If you need space, take it.
But you're not figuring yourself out in this house. She looked shocked. Griffin, come on. You're not even going to try to talk about this. You didn't want a conversation.
You made a decision. I'm just honoring it. She stood there like she thought I'd fold. I didn't. 15 minutes later, she was stuffing clothes into her bag and walking past the hallway.
I didn't ask where she was going. At the door, she hesitated. Maybe she wanted me to stop her. Maybe she expected tears, a fight, some kind of grand gesture. All I did was open the door.
Take care, Rachel. She walked out without saying a word. The next morning, I woke up at 6:00, made my coffee, hit the gym, and came back to answer client emails. Rachel's absence wasn't some dramatic hole in my day. It was just one less variable to manage.
Sarah, my sister, called the following Saturday. She really left? Yep. And you're not freaking out? I looked out the window.
What's there to freak out about? Sarah didn't say anything. She knew me. I don't do begging. I don't do drama.
That same weekend, John, a good friend from childhood, came by to check in. We sat outside, not saying much at first. He studied me for a while, probably expecting cracks to show. He asked if I was all right. I told him yes.