I didn't know how tired I was until someone finally gave me permission to stop pretending I was strong.
For months, I had carried everything alone.
Mohammed had drained me emotionally, financially, and mentally. Home wasn't a place where I felt safe enough to breathe. My business was struggling. My heart was confused.
And somehow, I was still expected to wake up every morning and act normal.
I couldn't.
That evening, I sat on the edge of my bed staring at my phone.
James's name was there.
I had stared at it so many times without calling.
Nine months.
Nine months since I had walked away.
Nine months since I had told myself that I needed another life.
Nine months since James had begged me to reconsider.
Now I was sitting there with tears running down my face, wondering whether I had destroyed something I should have protected.
I finally called.
He answered.
"Bjei?"
Just hearing his voice made something inside me collapse.
I couldn't speak.
"Bjei, are you there?"
I began crying.
Not the quiet kind.
The kind of crying that came from somewhere deep.
The kind that made breathing difficult.
James didn't rush me.
He simply listened.
"What's wrong?"
"I can't do this anymore," I whispered.
"Do what?"
"Everything."
There was silence.
Then he asked softly,
"Where are you?"
I told him.
He came.
I don't remember how long it took.
I only remember seeing him walk toward me and feeling my chest tighten.
Nine months.
It had been nine months.
Yet when our eyes met, it didn't feel like nine months.
It felt like I had been waiting for that exact moment.
He stood in front of me.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he opened his arms.
I walked into them.
The moment he held me, I broke.
I cried against his chest.
He held me tighter.
His hand moved gently over my back.
"You don't have to explain everything now," he whispered.
But I wanted to.
I needed him to know.
So we sat together.
And I told him everything.
I told him about Mohammed.
The money.
The lies.
The insults.
The manipulation.
The way I had slowly lost myself trying to make the relationship work.
I told him how much money I had given away.
How badly my business had suffered.
How embarrassed I felt.
I expected James to become angry.
Instead, he looked at me with sadness.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was ashamed."
"You don't have to be ashamed with me."
I looked down.
"I chose him."
"I know."
"I hurt you."
"I know that too."
My eyes filled with tears.
"Then why are you still here?"
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Because you needed someone."
That answer destroyed me.
I cried again.
James pulled me closer.
For the first time in months, I didn't feel like I had to fight the world by myself.
There was something different between us that night.
Maybe it was the distance.
Maybe it was everything we had survived separately.
Maybe nine months had taught both of us how easily people could lose something they once took for granted.
But when our hands touched, the old chemistry returned.
Stronger.
Deeper.
More frightening.
Because this time, I knew exactly what it meant to lose him.
We talked until morning.
There were apologies.
Questions.
Long silences.
Laughter through tears.
And eventually, James asked,
"Do you still love me?"
I looked at him.
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I whispered,
"I never stopped."
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he took my hand.
"Then let's not pretend anymore."
That was how we found our way back.
Not with a grand proposal.
Not with promises that everything would magically become perfect.
Just two wounded people deciding to try again.
But this time, I promised myself something.
I wouldn't lose myself for love.
I would love James.
But I would also love me.
I didn't know then that the nine months we had spent apart had changed more than just me.
There were things James hadn't told me.
Things I wouldn't discover immediately.
Things waiting quietly beneath the surface.
For the moment, though, I was simply grateful.
I had my shoulder back.
And I cried on it until there were no tears left.