A Long-Distance Love Story
The Hardest Word to Say
“I miss you.”
My fingers clutched the phone, white-knuckled, as Christopher’s voice came through. It had been months since we were last together — since I’d heard that voice in person, held his hand, or woke up next to his sleeping form in the quiet hours of dawn.
“I miss you too,” I managed, my voice thin and reedy. Raw longing clawed up my throat. I seemed unendurable for six more months of school when every atom of my body strained west — toward him. But Christopher needed to build our future. He was required to prove himself at this new job in a strange city a thousand miles away from me. From us.
So I endured. What else could I do?
We Have All the Time in the World
At first, Christopher would be too busy to notice my absence. His texts and calls came at odd hours, between business meetings and client dinners. But at least they came. I reasoned that we would survive this temporary separation if we had that.
With school and my part-time job filling my days, the time we slipped past quickly. But our nightly calls sustained me. Christopher recounted office politics and new coworkers while I described professors and classmates. We laughed about old college stories and planned for our new city’s future.
“Just six more months of long nights,” I told him. “Then we’ll never spend another night apart.”
But something invisible had shifted, and the days between calls lengthened. His responses to my texts trickled, then stopped. My messages lingered on “delivered” for hours, then days at a time, unread. I stared at my phone each night, willing it to light up with his name. The weeks crawled as worry gnawed a hollow space beneath my ribs.
Until one evening, it finally rang. Relief broke over me like a wave. But his first words turned my blood to ice.
“Abigail, I have to tell you something.”
The Words I Thought I’d Never Speak
“Just tell me.” My voice was steady despite the hammering of my heart. I knew what was coming, and I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t bear for him to voice the truth I’d buried deep and pretended not to see.
Silence. Then, softly, “I’ve met someone else.”
The ache ripped through my chest, hot and broken glass sharp. I pressed a hand over my mouth to hold back the cry clawing up my throat. We were supposed to have all the time in the world. What had happened? When had he slipped away?
But I had known. I just refused to see it. So this was my fault, too.
I managed a wispy “Congratulations” around the fist, clenching my heart.
He murmured regret that I waved away with a brittle laugh. As if this were something he could apologize for. As if words could soothe the betrayal. No. His remorse may be genuine, but it was far too late. He had made his choice.
We lingered a moment longer in thick, ugly silence. Then I ended the call and folded forward over my knees. The floor blurred. I pressed my fists into my eyes until colours burst. For long minutes — hours maybe — I focused on the next breath, in, then out. Rinse and repeat.
Until finally, I uncurled. I wiped my eyes dry. With robotic movements, I changed out of my work clothes and pulled on an old hoodie. I grabbed my sneakers and headed out into the deepening twilight.
There was nothing left to cling to now. There is no comforting fiction of a shared future to obscure reality. Distance had worn our bond too thin, stretched the ties binding us to gossamer threads that finally snapped. It was over. Truly over.
It’s time to start walking this road alone.
The Light Ahead
I moved through months numbly. School and work filled my days; silence occupied the evenings once prosperous with laughter and dreams. While friends giggled over coffee dates, I withdrew into myself, nurturing the tender spot left raw inside me.
On evenings when loneliness threatened to overwhelm me, I laced up my sneakers and headed out to walk. In rain or chill wind, feet pounding on concrete in time with my heartbeat, I relearned how to be alone. How to breathe around the hurt. How to lift my eyes from the path behind me to the road ahead.
Until one night, months later, I realized the ache had faded. Not disappeared — I doubted that wound would ever heal completely. But I have scabbed over, at least. Enough for me to lift my head and truly see the future waiting down the lamplit street — mine for the taking.
I stood very still, eyes closed, testing myself. And smiled as a fledgling hope fluttered its wings inside me. Dawn light glinted off windows high above. The city was waking. And in its promise of new beginnings, I also felt ready to wake up.
The journey would be long, but my feet were sturdy beneath me. My pack was filled with all I needed for the road ahead. I breathed deep, tilted my face to the rising sun, and walked toward whatever lay beyond the bend.
