The Night I Couldn’t Take Back

I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it was years ago. That one night that changed everything. You ever have one of those moments where you know—just know—you're making a mistake, but you go through with it anyway? Yeah, that was me.

It was a Friday night, and I was out with my buddies. We’d had a rough week, so naturally, we decided to hit up our usual spot. The place was packed, music blaring, lights flashing—one of those nights that felt like anything could happen.

There she was, sitting at the bar, just nursing a drink. Emma. We’d dated back in high school, and man, I thought she was the one. But life happened, we went our separate ways, and that was that. Until tonight. She looked almost the same, just a little older, a little wiser, maybe. I should’ve walked away. Should’ve just waved, said a quick hello, and kept moving. But I didn’t.

We started talking, catching up on life and all the stuff we’d missed out on. The drinks kept coming, and before I knew it, we were laughing like the old days, reminiscing about things that felt like another lifetime ago. And then, I had that thought. That stupid, impulsive thought: What if we gave it another shot? I could see it in her eyes too—she was thinking the same thing. But instead of talking about it, we just…did it. We left the bar together, and, well, you can guess the rest.

The next morning was a mess of awkwardness and bad decisions. We both knew it wasn’t right, not after all this time, not with the lives we’d built separately. But the worst part? I knew I had someone else at home—someone who loved me, who trusted me.

I didn’t tell Emma. I didn’t tell anyone. I just pretended it never happened, tried to move on with life. But the thing about regret is, it doesn’t just fade away. It sticks with you, like a shadow you can’t shake. Every time I looked at my girlfriend after that night, I felt it—a gnawing pit in my stomach, this heavy weight of guilt that just wouldn’t go away. I’d messed up, big time.

Months went by, and I tried to bury it, but it kept creeping up in little ways. I’d snap at her over nothing, avoid conversations that got too deep. I was drifting, and she could tell. One day, she confronted me. “What’s going on with you? You’re not yourself.”

I wanted to tell her, to come clean, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just kept quiet, letting the silence answer for me. She walked away that day, and it felt like something broke between us. A few weeks later, she packed her bags and left.

So here I am now, sitting in this empty apartment, thinking about that night. The night I can’t take back, no matter how much I wish I could. I’ve tried to move on, tried to forget, but it’s like a splinter in my mind, a constant reminder of what I lost because of one bad decision.

People say time heals all wounds, but I’m not sure that’s true. Some wounds, like regret, just stay open, festering in the background. Maybe one day I’ll learn to live with it, to forgive myself. But for now, it’s just me and my thoughts, replaying that night over and over again, wishing I’d made a different choice.