Regret Comes Only After Goodbye

"Eric and I were together for seven years. The thing he said to me most often was:

""Sorry, I forgot.""

He forgot my birthday. Forgot the trips we'd planned. Forgot to buy medicine when I was burning up with a hundred-and-four-degree fever.

I'd cried over it. I'd fought with him about it. He'd always rub his temples, exhausted:

""Once this busy stretch is over, I'll make it up to you.""

Looking at the weariness pooled beneath his eyes, I swallowed my hurt again and again, telling myself he was tired—that I shouldn't make things harder for him.