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Too suffocating.

Too heavy with what we’velostin the spaces between words.

And I realize that loving a Reaper — a man who lives in shadows and danger and things that don’t bend to sunlight — means sometimes sacrificing what youwantfor what youneed.

I need honesty.

And he can’t give me all of it.

So I walk to the door.

My steps echo — the only sound in a place that once felt like home.

He doesn’t follow.

He doesn’t reach for me.

He stands there — still, silent — eyes burning.

Not angry.

Not pleading.

Just watching.

Waiting.

And when the door closes behind me — that quiet click against the polished metal frame — it feels like meaning:

Final.

Not violent.

But irrevocable.

And in the sudden hush of absence — where his scent used to be — I feel something snap inside me.

Not just heartbreak.

Not just grief.

But resolution.

Because love — even love this deep — shouldn’t make you feel lost in your own life.

Not if it’s meant to be a home.

Not if it’s meant to endure.

And whatever else happens next…

I am ending this because I still love myself enough to walk away.

Not from him.

But from a version of love that would make me disappear.

CHAPTER 13