When it ended, the emotional hangover hit instantly.
She left.
I went to the shower and cried so hard I could barely breathe.
He cried too. She cried too.
Everyone felt the weight of what we had just unlocked — but by then, the door was already open.
For months, I resented him.
I couldn’t look at him without replaying the night.
Our intimacy went from spontaneous to clinical — like I was trying to force my body into cooperating with a mind that had declared a full stop.
It didn’t matter how gentle he was after. It didn’t matter how apologetic.
In my head, I had a loop that wouldn’t stop playing.
Therapy helped me put labels on it: grief, trauma, betrayal-by-consent, self-abandonment.
But naming the problem doesn’t automatically delete the memory.
