The moment I saw Noah in uniform, I ran into his arms. Ten months apart melted away—but guilt didn’t.
While he was gone, I got close to someone else. Micah. It started as comfort. It became more.
Noah didn’t know. He believed I waited. And when he pulled out a ring after the game, my heart sank.
I couldn’t say yes—not with a lie between us.
Later, at the lake, I told him the truth. He was quiet. Hurt. But he listened.
“I need time,” he said.
Micah reappeared days later. We talked. No expectations. Just honesty.
Eventually, Noah and I met again.
“We were good,” he said. “But maybe we’ve grown apart.”
We let go—with love, not bitterness.
Now, Micah and I take quiet walks. No labels. Just something real, unfolding slowly.
Love isn’t always forever. Sometimes, it’s a season. And some seasons feel like spring after a long winter.
The bravest thing I did? Admit I changed.
And let go.
