I Shouldn’t Have Read His Last Message

I knew I shouldn’t open it.

But I did.

And now, I can’t un-read the words that tore through me like a blade wrapped in softness.

It had been sitting in my phone for days.

One notification.

No name. Just the familiar number I never had the nerve to delete.

I knew exactly who it was.

Eli.

We hadn’t spoken in weeks. Not since the night I told him I needed “space.”

I remember how his face barely changed when I said it.

He just nodded, like he’d been expecting it all along.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said.

No anger. No begging. Just silence.

That was the worst part.

How calm he was. How kind.

Like he knew I would run before I even did.

The message came exactly seven days later.

It was short — just a single line on my lock screen.

“One new message.”

No preview. No urgency. Just a presence.

And I didn’t read it.

Not at first.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

That I had said everything I needed to say.

That if I opened it, it would just pull me back into something I’d already burned down.

But the truth is:

I didn’t open it because I was afraid it would hurt.

And I didn’t open it because I was afraid it wouldn’t.

Each night, I’d find myself holding my phone in the dark, thumb hovering over his name.

What could he have possibly said?

Was it a goodbye? A confession? An apology?

Or worse — was it nothing at all?

I pictured him sending it.

Sitting alone in his car, maybe.

Typing and retyping, unsure if he should hit send.

And then, deciding.

Letting it go — not because he thought I’d answer, but because he needed to release it.

That image stayed with me.

Tonight, I broke.

It wasn’t dramatic.

No music. No tears. No storm outside the window.

Just me, alone, on the edge of my bed.

Tired of pretending I didn’t still miss him.

I tapped his name.

Opened the message.

And read the thing I had spent weeks trying to avoid.

**“I didn’t want to make this harder, so I stayed quiet. But there are things I need you to know.

I never loved anyone the way I loved you. Not because you were easy to love — but because you were real.

I saw you. All of you. The overthinking, the silence, the way you pulled away when you needed closeness the most. And I never ran. Not once.

You told yourself I would leave eventually. But I never left.

You did.

And still, I forgive you.

I hope one day you learn to stop punishing people for loving you.”

—E**

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

And then I just sat there, letting the weight of every word sink into the hollow parts of me I had tried to ignore.

He didn’t say it to make me feel guilty.

He said it because he meant it.

Because somewhere between the mess of who I was and who I was trying to be, he had loved me anyway.

And I ran from it.

Not because I didn’t love him — but because I didn’t know how to be loved without feeling like I was doing something wrong.

I thought space would protect me.

But all it did was build a wall so high that even the truth couldn’t climb over it.

He never chased me.

And maybe that’s what I needed to learn.

That real love doesn’t chase.

It waits — until it can’t anymore.

Now I sit here with the final words of a man who saw every scar and stayed.

And I let him go.

Because I was too afraid he wouldn’t.

The room feels colder now.

Quieter.

As if something just left — even though I know it was gone long before I opened that message.

I reread it once more, even though I know I shouldn’t.

Not because I think he’s still waiting.

But because some part of me wishes I had answered before it was too late.

If I could reply, I would say this:

I’m sorry.

You were right.

I thought silence would protect me from heartbreak — but it only delayed the inevitable.

I still miss you, even now.

Especially now.

But I won’t send that message.

Because I know now that some people forgive you without needing to hear you’re sorry.

And some messages are meant to be read — once.

Then carried quietly.

Forever.

Sometimes, I wonder if the pain would have been easier if I’d never opened it.

Or if closure would have come quicker if I’d faced the truth head-on.

Maybe there’s no right answer.

Only the raw ache of knowing love doesn’t always come wrapped in easy endings.

I shouldn’t have read it.

But I did.

And I’ll never forget it

And I’ll never forget it.