The echo of his words—I don't want to see you—chased me all the way back to my fancy prison. They weren't just words; they were a door slamming shut. I stumbled into the room, the plush rug doing nothing to soften the impact of his rejection.

He doesn't mean it, I told myself, leaning against the cold door. He's just ashamed. He's pushing me away to protect me. But the logic was a thin shield against the raw hurt. My chest ached, a hollow, empty feeling that had nothing to do with the ...