Back then, she said, she had felt overwhelmed. The sudden shift into motherhood and the pressure of a new life had left her feeling lost. That day, something in her gave way. She didn’t plan it, but she left—booking a flight and starting over somewhere far away. She built a new life, one where she could catch her breath.
As she spoke, a mix of emotions surged through me. Sadness. Confusion. Even frustration. But there was also something else: understanding.
We had both changed in the years since. The people we were back then no longer existed. And while part of me had once dreamed of finding her again, I now realized I didn’t need to rebuild the past.
What I needed was closure.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I truly didn’t know what else to do.”
“I understand,” I replied quietly.
And then, I turned and walked away.
With each step, the burden of unanswered questions began to lift. I finally had the one thing I had longed for all these years: an answer. It wasn’t the reunion I once imagined—but it was the peace I didn’t know I needed.
Not to return to what once was, but to move forward. For myself. For Noah. For the life we had built—together, even in her absence.