All Chapters of He was never my Forever : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I used to know who I was. Sunday mornings in church. Bible study on Wednesdays. A girl with conviction. A girl with faith. Until him.They say you become who you spend time with. I didn’t believe that until I saw my reflection one morning — makeup smudged, last night’s clothes still clinging to my body, the scent of alcohol and someone else’s choices clinging to my skin.It wasn’t mine.Not this version of me.He had become my religion. I traded in sermons for sleep-ins, quiet prayer for chaotic mornings in his bed. I stopped showing up to the life I once held sacred.It didn’t happen all at once.It was slow. Quiet. Subtle.The first Sunday I missed church, I told myself I was tired.The second, he had a late game and wanted me to stay.The third, I didn’t even feel guilty.I started to wear shorter skirts. Louder lipstick. Drink more. Laugh louder. Curse more.He’d say things like, “You’re so much more fun now.”And part of me liked that. Liked the attention. Liked the way he looked

I didn’t recognise myself anymore — not in the mirror, not in my own thoughts.There was a time I used to laugh without overthinking how my face looked while doing it. A time I ate food without calculating the calories, without guilt, without punishing myself afterward with a 10km run. But that version of me had faded, starved out by insecurity and comparison.I had lost 12 kilograms.People started complimenting me — “You look so good!” “You’ve gotten so lean!” — and I’d smile, but it was hollow. Because the truth was, it wasn’t health. It was heartbreak. It was skipping meals because I’d rather feel hungry than feel unworthy. It was pushing myself in the gym until my legs shook because maybe, just maybe, he’d find me beautiful again if I looked like her.Whoever she was.The ones he messaged.The ones who made me feel like I was never enough.He never told me to change.But he didn’t need to.Every time he flirted with someone else, every time he looked through me like I wasn’t ther

I was halfway across the world when his name lit up on my screen.It was late — or maybe early — I couldn’t tell. Jet-lagged, sleepless, stretched between time zones and emotions I hadn’t fully unpacked. I was sitting alone in a quiet café in New Zealand, sipping tea that had long gone cold, writing in my journal like I did every morning.And then there it was.Him.A simple message. Just two words.“Miss you.”My heart didn’t race — it dropped.Because no matter how far I had come, no matter how long I’d been gone… a part of me still wasn’t ready to see his name.It had been two full months of no contact. Two months of silence, solitude, growth. I thought I was past it — the pain, the pull, the illusion of him.But that message cracked open a part of me I thought I’d already sealed.I stared at the screen for ten minutes, just breathing.I didn’t cry.I didn’t smile.I just… remembered.Remembered the nights I begged for that message and never got it.Remembered all the times I felt

There was no dramatic ending. No final fight. No tears soaking pillows or doors slamming in the background.There was just a quiet kind of knowing.A softness in my chest that whispered, This isn’t where you belong anymore.That’s the thing about healing — it doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it arrives silently, like a breeze. You’re standing in the middle of your old life, the old feelings knocking gently at your door, and you realize… they don’t move you the way they used to.That’s what it felt like after I left his apartment that night.I didn’t text him when I got home.He didn’t call.There was no closure conversation. No “let’s talk later.”Just… silence.But this time, the silence didn’t hurt.It felt safe.Walking away didn’t mean I didn’t love him anymore.It meant I finally loved myself more.It wasn’t an act of revenge.It wasn’t about proving anything.It was just time.Time to close the door on a chapter that had rewritten me in ways I never consented to.Time t

The first night I came home to an empty bed and didn’t feel lonely, I knew something had shifted.It wasn’t loud, like a breakthrough. It didn’t hit like lightning or burn like fire.It was quiet.Gentle.A soft knowing that I wasn’t waiting for someone to save me anymore.I made tea. Sat on the couch with a blanket. Lit a candle.And for the first time in a long time… I felt at peace in my own presence.It used to scare me, being alone.I used to fill silence with distractions — music, messages, his voice echoing through the phone.I couldn’t stand my own thoughts.Now? I welcomed them like old friends.I had spent so long trying to be someone else’s home.Trying to make my body a place where he felt safe, my voice a sound he wanted to return to, my heart a shelter for all the storms he refused to face.But in doing that, I had evicted myself.Now, I was learning to come back home — to me.I started making small promises to myself.And keeping them.Drink water before coffee.Stretch