Then, out of the blue, Caleb left for a “work trip” to Miami. He’d been in sales, so it made sense. I waved him off with a kiss, told him to be safe, and reminded him to call when he arrived.
But he didn’t call. And when the days passed, and I couldn’t reach him, I started to feel the weight of uncertainty. I tried not to overthink it—work trips could run long, I told myself—but something didn’t sit right.
A month later, I received an email. “I need space. Don’t contact me. I’ll reach out when I’m ready.”
Just like that, he was gone.
I spent the next few months in limbo. No calls, no support, no explanations—nothing. I was left to fend for myself, running on autopilot as I worked double shifts at the hospital, trying to keep my life intact. I tried to hold everything together, pretending to everyone around me that everything was fine, when the reality was that I was drowning.
