I grabbed my jacket, turned off the lights, and locked the door behind me. Out in the hallway, I caught my reflection in the small security mirror at the end of the corridor.
Same face.
Same eyes. But the woman looking back at me was different. She knew she could survive walking away from a crowded room, from a shared lease, from a man who thought respect was optional as long as the playlist was good and the wine was expensive.
She knew that sometimes the bravest, most mature thing you can do isn’t staying and proving how much you can tolerate.
It’s standing at your own front door, looking someone in the eye, and saying, “He’s yours now,” then choosing yourself and walking away. And never, ever going back.
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