a story. part 15.

he was starting to slip back into the fine art of escaping. on a wednesday morning when her alarm woke her up, she noticed he wasn't next to her. maybe he'd gone to the bathroom, she thought. but when she called out for him, there was no reply.
she rolled over to see that he'd left a note on his pillow. her life, she realized, was turning into a cliche.
she sat up, stunned yet astutely aware that her heart was pounding so hard it might break through the very wall of her chest.
it took her a full hour before she was able to open his letter.
and in his big, fat handwriting she read the words:
i know i am hurting you.

those 6 words were all it took to take her heart and twist it.
it was as if his hand reached in, grabbed it and just started pulling.
for the next month, every time she took a breath, she had to encourage herself to take another.