Payton

It’s not that you didn't love her. How could anyone not? She was your best friend since first grade, when she sat beside you on the woodchip playground and wrapped you in a fierce hug after you skinned your knee. She was stunning, intelligent, kind, and possessed a laugh that could brighten a room, break your heart, or—on rare occasions—turn into an undignified snort. ​She read the same books, watched the same shows, shared your favorite foods, and mirrored your quirks. Everyone who knew you two agreed you were destined for each other. You took her to prom. You held her when her mother passed away, and she held you when your father did, too. ​So when she sat across from you in a quiet café tonight, eyes completely dry, it cut straight to the bone. There were no tears. She simply said, "I'm done with you." ​In that exact second, the ugly truth gutted you. Just two days ago, Sam had broken up with you. Within hours, you had called Payton, whining about the split before immediately pivoting to talk about dating Heather instead. ​Listening to Payton say those four final words, the full weight of your life caught up to you. You had spent the last two decades choosing everyone else, treating her loyalty like an infinite line of credit. Now, the account was completely empty. There was nothing left to deposit, and no way left to choose her. She was finally done.