It had been two years since I last saw Mark — my first love, and my hardest goodbye.
We broke up messily, with words left unsaid and wounds left open. I spent the time since rediscovering myself, trying to heal. I never thought I’d hear from him again… until he messaged:
“Can we talk? I need to explain.”
Against my better judgment, I said yes.
We met in the park where we’d once spent entire afternoons together. He looked the same, yet different — older, more serious. His first words:
“I’m sorry. I messed up. I took you for granted.”
Then he handed me a box. For a moment, my heart jumped — a proposal?
No. A necklace. Simple. Elegant.
“A symbol,” he said. “Of how much I still care.”
I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to believe in second chances.
And then—
“Mark?”
A woman stood nearby, holding a baby.
“I thought I saw you,” she said, eyeing me.
Mark paled.
“This is Ava. My ex.”
The woman blinked.
“Ex? Mark… you never said you were meeting anyone today.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who is she?” I asked.
Mark stared at the ground.
“She’s my wife. We’ve been married a year.”
Just like that, everything shattered.
I walked away — no tears, no drama, just truth.
He didn’t want closure. He wanted absolution without consequences.
But I’d already given myself the only thing I ever needed from him —
The freedom to walk away.
The strength to never go back.
The love I’d finally learned to give myself.