Chapter 3I Can’t Handle His Love

I called my best friend. I needed a place to stay for a while.

She was thrilled to have me.

As for Nathan, I knew we were done. Truly done. I planned to have my things moved out of the apartment as soon as possible.

My friend, a staunch bachelorette, knew I was heartbroken. She took a week off work and dragged me to amusement parks, determined to cheer me up.

She knew me. Five years of love doesn’t just disappear. A part of me, deep down, was still holding on.

We did everything I’d never dared to do before: bungee jumping, skiing, skydiving.

Exhausted but happy, we finally headed back to her cozy little apartment.

But Nathan was there, waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.

He spoke first, his voice strained. “Clara. You seem to be in a good mood, now that I’m gone.”

“Yes. You’ve been busy, and so have I.” I had no interest in making small talk.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “For ruining your birthday.”

In the past, his jealousy would have been a secret thrill. Now, it was just… pathetic.

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re not right for each other. When it’s over, it’s over.” I just wanted the conversation to end.

He hesitated, a look of disappointment on his face when I didn't explode with anger.

“Actually, there’s something I need to tell you,” I began.

“I think this relationship…”

He cut me off, as if he knew what was coming. “Clara, I’ve already compromised.”

Seeing the look on my face, he backtracked. “I’m so sorry. It was my fault. Please don’t…”

I shattered his illusion. “We are not a good match.”

“And I need you to consider my feelings. Your birthday wasn't the first time, but it will be the last.”

“You can look at your chat history. The apologies are endless. So many that… I’m just so, so tired.”

Nathan was silent for a long time.

He couldn't meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, Clara,” he whispered. “Please don’t be angry…”

I understood. He was still running. He knew there was a problem, but his only solution was to bury me in apologies until I gave up.

The slam of the door echoed in the hallway. This time, I was the one who had slammed it.

It was a release. An end to the emotional entanglement. A final, honest confession to myself.