The Apology I Never Received

I waited longer than I care to admit for two simple words: I’m sorry. I thought they would come eventually — maybe in a message, a conversation, or even a late-night voice note when the guilt finally caught up with you. But they never did. And maybe they never will.

You see, I used to believe closure was something someone gave you — something owed after pain, betrayal, or silence. I kept my phone close, expecting to see your name. I rehearsed how I’d respond. I imagined you finally admitting what you did, and how I’d say, “I forgive you.”

But days turned into months, and months into years, and the apology I waited for stayed buried beneath your pride, or maybe your indifference.

There was a time I blamed myself. I dissected every memory, every word I said, every tear I cried. I wondered if I pushed too hard, expected too much, loved too deeply. I made excuses for your silence — told myself you didn’t know better, that you were hurting too, that maybe you just didn’t know how to say sorry.

But deep down, I knew better.
You knew what you were doing.
You knew you left me carrying all the weight while you walked away freely.

You broke things inside me. Things I couldn’t name at first — trust, softness, belief in people. You took my silence as acceptance, my patience as weakness, my forgiveness as a free pass. And I let you.

Until one day, I didn’t.

I remember sitting by the window, the sky grey and aching with the kind of clouds that mirrored everything I felt. And it hit me — the apology wasn’t coming. Not because I didn’t deserve it, but because you didn’t have the courage to give it.

So I wrote it myself.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“I’m sorry I made you feel like your love was a burden.”
“I’m sorry I never saw the strength it took for you to stay, even when I gave you every reason to leave.”

I wrote those words as if they came from you — and then I read them back to myself. I let the tears fall. I didn’t wipe them away. They weren’t weakness anymore. They were release.

That was the day I stopped waiting.

I no longer needed your words to validate my pain. I no longer needed you to admit what I already knew. I gave myself the one thing you never could: closure.

And it changed everything.

I stopped checking my phone. I stopped fantasizing about a reunion where everything would finally make sense. I stopped shrinking myself to fit the narrative that your absence had written for me. I started becoming someone new — someone lighter.

I forgave you. Not for you. You’ll probably never know. But I forgave you because I didn’t want to carry your silence with me any longer. I didn’t want to keep bleeding from wounds you never had the decency to acknowledge.

Forgiveness, I learned, isn’t always about the other person. Sometimes, it’s a way of saying, I choose peace over bitterness. I choose healing over waiting.

I began to breathe again. I began to walk lighter. I started journaling, singing in the shower, dancing while I made tea. I laughed — really laughed — for the first time in what felt like forever. The kind of laugh that comes from rediscovering the parts of you someone else almost destroyed.

And slowly, I began to rebuild. Not just my life, but my heart.

To anyone still waiting for the apology that never came: let it go. Write it yourself if you have to. Say it out loud. Read it to the mirror. Then set it free.

You don’t need their guilt to be free. You don’t need their regret to move on. What you need — and what you already have — is the strength to say: I was hurt. I deserved better. And I’m still here.

Let them live in denial if they must. But you? You get to heal. You get to grow. You get to write the rest of your story — and you don’t need their permission.

This is your closure.
This is your healing.
This is your new beginning.

And it’s beautiful.