I know I still think about us. Do you? I want to know if you remember it like I do. I sincerely doubt you do. A friend told me how you looked at us. How physical affection seemed forced. How you seemed to hide your lack of love for him better than you did me. She said that you knew she could read her. That you saw her as a threat. I’m glad someone saw what you were doing. I just you would’ve left sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t be so attached. I hate that the anxiety I feel around you is akin to the anxiety I feel around my father. I hate that I spent countless months swearing you were nothing like him, only for you to hurt me just the same. I hate how you hurt him too. I miss who I used to be. I no longer recognize myself. I’ve done things to myself I never thought I’d do again. You broke me. I hate how he comes to me and cries when he’s seen you. I hate how much you hurt us. I just can’t hate you. If you came back right now, I’d let you back in. I’d love you just the same. I hate myself for admitting that.