I deserved it. Not everything, perhaps — not exactly how she said it or the sharpness of her voice — but the feeling, the annoyance, and the letdown? Yeah. That portion? I earned it.
There's only so many times someone can be forgiven for being placed second. She smiled through a lot. Waited for more. I mistook her patience for permanence, believing she would always be there, like the wallpaper or the stars—constant, background, and reliable. I didn't notice the gradual fading in her eyes, nor did her 'I'm fine' become quieter and heavier.
I chuckled at things that weren't funny. Forgot things that were important to her. Dismissed feelings with reason. She sought comprehension, and I provided her efficiency. She required my attention, so I offered her presence — but only half of it, the distracted, scroll-filled, halflistening type.
So, when she stated, "I'm tired," and walked away, I didn't argue. Not because I agreed with how she did it—no explanations, no final plea—but because I realized deep down I had given her no more strength to explain. She'd already done it again and again.
It is simple to portray the victim. But occasionally you sit with the stillness and understand that you are the cause for it. Perhaps she required more than just pledges and occasional flowers. Perhaps she required effort. Maybe she needed me to care as much as I said I would.
And now I'm sitting with the repercussions. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… understanding.
I probably deserved that.