Unplanned, Unstoppable: How I Became a Single Mom and Rebuilt My Life

Slowly losing him

The miles between us were not as significant as the changes in his voice and the way his laughter now echoed. At first, it started with a soft approach like missed calls, replies that took longer to come, and words that had a pause which wasn’t there before. I reassured myself that love like ours could not just disappear and life was simply in the way. However, the more the days became weeks, the gap between us began to turn into something that could not be felt or resolved.

I still recall the day it struck the hardest. I was locked up on the couch closely watching the screen of my phone. I saw that our chat remained unread, and I knew that there was no chance for him to be busy. He simply was not here in the manner he used to be. Using a wave of new messages, I typed words using the search for a title grabber. Acknowledging how desperate I had become was terrifying.

As he responded, I could sense an emotionless tone in his words. To put it simply, he seemed different, “Sorry, it’s underway a long day for me,” was his response. The reality check is that everyday is a long day. Regardless, prior long days did not hinder him to tell me how much he missed me or to block sending me sunset pictures knowing how fond I am of them.

I attempted to stay connected. “Do you recall this?” was the question I posed when sending him a snapshot of a late-night coffee or a road trip coffee. Proofs of our inside jokes, cherished memories and outstanding reminders of us that once felt unshakable. Sometimes, he’d respond with a smiley face, other times with a simple “yeah.” And with every short reply, I felt another piece of us slip through my fingers.

One night, I called him. I needed to hear his voice, needed reassurance that we were still us. He answered, but the silence between us was louder than anything we said. He asked how my day was, and I told him. I asked about his, and he kept it brief. The pauses stretched longer, filling the space with unspoken thoughts neither of us dared to voice.

“Are we okay?” I finally asked, my heart pounding.

“Yeah,” he said too quickly. “Just tired.”

Tired. A word that had become his shield, his excuse, his way of keeping me at a safe distance. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to hold onto the idea that this was just a rough patch, that love didn’t just fade. But love wasn’t supposed to feel this lonely.

I started preparing myself for the moment I knew was coming. I replayed our best moments in my head, clinging to them like they could somehow undo what was happening. But memories aren’t enough to keep someone who’s already halfway gone.

I started to notice the little things. How he no longer asked about my day, how our conversations felt forced, mechanical. How his laughter, once effortless, now seemed distant. I told myself he was just busy, that we would find our way back. But deep down, I knew the truth—I was slowly losing him.

The last time we spoke, it was different. He didn’t rush off the phone, didn’t give me a one-word answer. Instead, he sighed, and for the first time, I heard the weight in his voice.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

I closed my eyes, letting his words settle. The truth was, he already had.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “I know.”

The silence stretched between us, longer than it ever had before. I could hear his breathing on the other end of the line, slow and uncertain. I wanted to say something, to fight for us, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I never meant for this to happen,” he whispered.

Neither had I. But some things don’t need a villain to fall apart. Some things just slip away, piece by piece, until one day there’s nothing left to hold on to. And just like that, the space between us became something permanent. A distance I could no longer cross.