We went to a place with small plates and big chairs. He ordered mussels. I made a joke about them being a risky third-date move, and he laughed like someone who’d never been truly humiliated by food. We didn’t talk about the dog. Not directly. Just a passing joke about how “not everyone likes their steak served to a Labrador mid-meal,” and then we moved on. I thought that meant we were okay. I thought the fact he was trying — showered, semi‑ironed, showing up without paws — meant something. And maybe it did. Just not the thing I wanted it to.
He met the kids. That’s the part I don’t know how to explain. Not in a big way. Just bumped into us at the park and stayed. Played that dangerous game where men who want to impress you try too hard with your children. Over-corrects. Too much “buddy.” Too much “funny voices.” The kind of thing that makes you wince behind your sunglasses while secretly appreciating the effort. And then you’re home later washing grass stains out of someone else’s jeans thinking — was that a good idea or a very stupid one.
He texted that night. Said it was nice. Said I’m “doing a great job.” Which is a weird thing to say unless you’re a teacher or a therapist or someone about to vanish.
And then nothing.
Not silence-silence. But that kind of slow fade where the messages go from three a day to one. Then to none. Then a meme. Then nothing again. No closure. No drama. Just absence wearing normal clothes.
I didn’t spiral. That’s new. I didn’t deep‑dive his Instagram or message a friend with 84 screenshots asking what it meant. I just sort of… noticed. I saw the gap. And I let it be a gap. Maybe that’s what therapy does. Maybe it’s just exhaustion. Either way, I didn’t chase. I didn’t fix. I didn’t fill the silence with emojis or polite reminders that I exist.
I just kept going.
Still packing lunches. Still wiping counters. Still yelling about socks and apologising for yelling about socks. Still getting that one perfect moment at 9:43pm where no one needs me and I remember who I used to be before I gave every part of me to everyone else.
I’m not heartbroken. Just tired. Not bitter. Just unimpressed. And maybe that’s growth. Or maybe it’s the barista who now gives me a heart in my coffee without asking, and that’s all the attention I need right now.
I don’t know what happens next. But I know I’m not going backwards.
And that’s something. Huh?