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