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Rhys blinks at me like I’m certifiably insane. I feel insane.

“Don’t talk like that,” she says, rocking me side to side.

“You gotta chill,” Rhys says.

Micky and I slowly turn our synchronized heads toward him; surely he’s not dumb enough to mistake our murderous glares.

“Whoa—wait, I didn’t mean like that.”

“Rhys, I love you, but shut up,” Micky says.

“Listen, you don’t have to decide anything today . . . Or this week.”

I throw up my hands. “Then why are we talking about it?”

“Because you shouldn’t make a forever decision when you’re going through the worst day of it. I’ve been there, and don’t want you to make the same mistake I did. Just tell him you need time.”

“I am not ready to talk to him.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding.

I grab my phone to check the time, remembering my NA meeting. One I cannot miss because my life is way too turbulent to skip. I’ve spoken with my sponsor twice this week just to ensure I don’t slip.

“Shit, I have to go,” I whimper, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I’m going to be late.”

“Can I drive you?” Micky asks.

I shake my head. “No. I’m fine. Can I come back here after, though?

“Of course,” Rhys answers while Micky nods.

“Save my tea, I’ll have it later.”

Same faces and same shitty coffee, but at least I’m here. People share and I nod when I’m supposed to. I say I’m having a hard week, which feels like saying an earthquake is a little bumpy. That’s what this feels like, a fucking earthquake. My entire world has been shaken up and now I’m sifting through a pile of rubble, hoping to find pieces I can salvage. Somebody hands me a tissue before I even realize I’m crying. Again.

Cool. Great. Fuck.

“I’m grieving something I thought was good . . . I’m angry . . . I miss someone I shouldn’t.” Most of the room nods at that sentiment—it’s one we all know too well.

That’s the cruelest part of it: I want to forget him at the same time I want him back. It’s an impossible situation that leaves me unable to accomplish either choice. Fucking purgatory. What he did was too wrong to just fold and forgive. But knowing that I can’t be with him doesn’t stop the part of me that misses his voice, his hands, the way he made everything feel more alive—made me feel alive.

Wanting him doesn’t change anything. It just leaves me broken, grieving someone I can’t keep and a life I can’t get back. Unfinished pain is the hardest to carry.

When I finish sharing, the group moves to the next person. I collect myself and try hard to listen to what they have to say, focusing on their words and not my thoughts.

After we wrap up, I’m stopped by a woman named Denise with pink lipstick and many more years of sobriety than me. She squeezes my hand and tells me that missing them is not the same as going back. I want to ask what happens when you want to go back anyway, but instead I tell her thanks and leave.

When I get back into my car, I sit in the parking lot for longer than necessary. I open up the messaging app on my phone. His name is no longer the one at the top with the last text. There are no unread messages, no frantic apologies or excuses. No can we talk?s.

I’m aware that the hurt I feel over his lack of communication is unfair. This is exactly what I wanted; he’s respecting my boundary. However, part of me wonders if he even notices that I’m gone. Is he feeling as devastated as I am? Does he feel like his world has collapsed too? I’m still so in love with him, and it aches deep in my bones. Like I’ll never be whole again.

Maybe Rhys is right, maybe we do need to talk. At least then I could get answers. As it stands, there’s no closure, and it’s nothing like ripping off a bandage, it’s like picking a scab over and over and over again. I’ll never heal. Perhaps there is a side of this I don’t know yet. Maybe the impossible truth is bigger.

I hate that I’m still attached to him even though he’s gone. Casper became so ingrained with my daily routine that I continue to find myself reaching for my phone to text or call him. We spoke every single day for months and now it’s nothing. Losing him all at once, and so abruptly, feels like some kind of disorienting death my body hasn’t accepted yet—as if neurons are still firing in my brain, even though my heart has stopped.

The grief is hell.

Yes, he hurt people—killed people.