The last time we were intimate, he confessed that he’d never truly liked a woman, but had chosen partners out of expectation. In that moment, I saw not only him, but everything he had revealed about his upbringing: the conflict avoidance, the stoicism, the emotional repression. And I realised that years of therapy had brought me to a place where I no longer wanted to be chosen simply to soothe my fear of abandonment. I wanted to be loved because I could be loved. What he was describing, though it hurt to hear and though I grieved the cage of his limitations, wasn’t enough for me anymore. Once, it might have been.
