Chapter 18: Cotton and Crying into Silence
Days turned to weeks.
Weeks turned to months.
And Elijah never came back.
Not a call.
Not a text.
Not even a like on my blog post — something he used to do religiously, always leaving a sweet comment that made me smile even when I was trying not to.
He just… disappeared.
And I hated myself for still checking my phone every time it buzzed, hoping against hope it would be him.
It wasn't.
Never was.
I told myself I deserved this.
That I had pushed him away with my silence, my fear, my inability to let someone love me without testing them first.
But knowing I did it didn't make the pain any less sharp.
It carved into me like winter wind — slow, cold, unrelenting.
At first, I held on to the memory of us like a child clinging to an old stuffed animal — worn out, but familiar.
I replayed our last conversation over and over in my head, wondering where I went wrong. If I had opened up sooner, if I had trusted him more, if I hadn't bought those stupid baby girl granny panties without talking to him first…
Would he still be here?
Would we still be us?
I wanted to ask him so many things.
But he was gone.
And no matter how many times I typed his name into my messages, I never hit send.
Because what would I even say?
"I'm sorry I ruined us."
"Please come back."
"I miss you."
The truth was, I didn't know if he wanted to hear it.
And I couldn't bear to find out.
I learned how to pretend.
How to laugh at work jokes again.
How to nod along when Grandma asked how Elijah was doing.
How to smile when people said, "You look great," even though I felt like I was falling apart inside.
I wore my sequins like armor again.
Wrapped my hair in silk scarves.
Put on my cotton-clad confidence like it still fit me.
But it didn't.
Not anymore.
Without Elijah, everything felt heavier.
My heels clicked too loud.
My earrings were too flashy.
Even my favorite pair of black lace-trimmed granny panties felt like they belonged to someone else — someone who used to believe in love, in soulmates, in second chances.
Someone I wasn't sure I was anymore.
At night, I'd cry into my pillow, muffling the sound so no one would hear me fall apart.
I cried for the man who loved me exactly as I was.
For the home he built in my heart.
For the future we never got to write.
And most of all, I cried because I didn't understand why it had been so easy for him to walk away.
Did I make it too easy?
Was I too much?
Or not enough?
I kept thinking about the way he looked at me before he left.
Hurt.
Tired.
Like he had loved me hard, and I had handed him nothing but silence in return.
I told myself he must've stopped caring.
But deep down, I knew better.
Elijah didn't stop loving me.
He just couldn't carry the weight of my fear alone.
And maybe… maybe that was the cruelest part of all.
He stayed long enough to show me what real love looked like.
Then he left me alone with the ghost of it.
And now, every time I reached for my drawer, I hesitated.
Because wearing my favorite panties didn't feel like joy anymore.
It felt like mourning.
Like holding onto something that once made me feel beautiful, now stained with the ache of loss.
People said time healed everything.
Maybe they were right.
But right now, time only reminded me of how long he'd been gone.
How quiet my life had become.
How empty my bed felt without him beside me.
I tried to keep writing the blog.
Tried to inspire others.
Told myself I was still strong.
Still unbroken.
Still me.
But sometimes, late at night, I'd sit on the edge of my bed and whisper into the dark:
"Why did you let me push you away so easily?"
And the silence answered back with nothing but echoes.
Because Elijah was gone.
And for the first time since I found myself again in cotton and courage…
I didn't know how to find my way back.