I wait until the middle of the night to leave. I know he deserves better, but I don't trust myself to actually walk away if I have to do it face-to-face.

Carefully, I pull away from the circle of his arms. His breathing is steady and deep, and he hardly even stirs as I quietly slip out of bed. I gather my few things and quickly dress. I've been debating whether or not to leave him a note, to tell him where I've gone and why. It feels less cowardly, somehow, to write him a ...