When their ‘sorry’ feels emptier than their absence
Their “sorry” arrived like a whisper in a crowded room.
Remember when their voice used to be the only sound that mattered? Now it’s just… there. A ripple in the calm waters you’ve fought so hard to find.
It’s been 462 days. Not that you’ve been counting, but each one was a step away from the chaos they left behind. At first, every day without them must’ve felt like drowning. Now? You’ve learned to breathe underwater.
Then, out of the blue they text you: “I’m sorry.”
Two words. Seven letters. Funny how something so small can leave you feeling so… empty.
You stare at your phone, waiting for the flood of emotions. Anger? Relief? Anything? But there’s just this strange stillness. Like watching a storm through a window, safe and dry inside.
Their “sorry” is a bouquet of wilted flowers when what you needed was a lifeline. Too little, too late.
It was like getting handed a band-aid after you’ve already stitched yourself up.
You’ve done the heavy lifting of healing. Cried oceans of tears. Screamed into pillows until your throat was raw. Learned to smile again without it feeling like a mask. And now they want to waltz back in, as if they have the right to witness your rebirth?
Remember how their laughter used to flood you with joy? Now their apology can’t even activate a single emotion within you.
The space they left behind feels more like home now than they ever did. That void? You’ve filled it with your own dreams, your own peace, and self-love.
You put your phone down, watching the screen go dark. And something just… shifted. Not in a good way, not in a bad way. Just different.
You finally see them clearly for a second. Not as the person you thought you couldn’t live without, but just… a person. Messy. Complicated. Human.
And suddenly, their “sorry” wasn’t empty anymore. It was heavy with everything they never said, every path they didn’t take, every moment they didn’t try to mend the sabotage they were causing.
It then hit you. Some doors, once they’re shut, stay shut. No matter how much you wish they’d open again.
You may have felt a tear roll down your cheek. Just one.
Because you finally get it. Their “sorry” wasn’t an ending. It wasn’t a new start.
It was just the last word in a chapter you’ve already finished.
And that chapter? It’s staying closed.
