You always make me feel like I’m the one who’s wrong. Every small annoyance with you turns into a full-blown argument.

Like yesterday, when you didn’t meet me at the train station and left me there for hours, hours in the pouring rain.

I felt humiliated. Ashamed that I thought you'd changed.

Do you remember how you dealt with that?

You told me I’ve made you wait before, and I deserved to know

what it felt like.

That’s not a valid reason.

That’s not even close.

If our relationship is simply about revenge, how can it be healthy?

But you don’t seem to understand that. You just keep on pushing this “when I make mistakes, it’s your fault” narrative.

You know I hate it.

And I’m done.

I’m surprised you haven’t been able to tell that from my behavior.

You complain about me sleeping past 2 a.m. on the edge of the bed, but you never ask why that’s been happening.

You choose to not hear me crying myself to sleep, hoping you won’t wake up and be ready for another argument.

You choose to ignore the dark bags under my puffy eyes and instead, blame them on my diet.

You choose to shower me with insults when I try on a newly bought dress, saying that I’m greedy and don’t care about my finances.

Our arguments have reached a breaking point.

You know that.

“Just say it,” you remind yourself, knowing you’ll regret it if you don’t.

And then you unleash the most hurtful spattering of words imaginable.

It’s unfathomable how you keep surprising me, even now. You’d think seven years would have dulled the spark.

The spark—that’s another thing you’re aware of.

Whatever we have, it’s nothing compared to our passion and love and respect for each other.

We once had something beautiful, magical, wonderous.

Don’t you long for those days?

Don’t you wish that we could turn back the clock and start anew?

I know I do.

You’ve turned the beauty into something twisted, the magic ugly, and the wonder nonexistent.

You can still change it.

We both know you hold the power in this relationship.

That’s why you’re out now, gambling and drinking the night away at some faraway bar.

If that was me, you’d throw a fit.

The fear of me being in someone else’s lap would drive you into a neurotic frenzy.

That same fear is the reason the doors are bolted outside right now.

Keeping me cloistered won’t keep me docile.

I may not be able to get out of this house, but I am able to stay angry at you.

That seems like the new normal.

You do something that hurts me—something that pushes me well beyond my limits—I cry, I write, I argue with you, you make me cry again, and we go to bed frothing with emotions.

I’ve told my friends about you before.

Some say you’re kind and charming—we both know that’s how you are in public—while others warn me you’re a toxic, arrogant, jealous person.

The ones who’re convinced of your captivating nature blame me, accusing me of fabricating problems and overreacting.

You always agree with them, which infuriates me to no point—you’re supposed to be in a relationship with me, not them.

And the friends that insult you to your face? Well, you take them away from me. Deleting cellphone numbers and blocking social media accounts won’t keep me away from the people who’ve stood by my side for longer than we’ve been together.

I don’t know when you started all of this.

Maybe it was a year ago, maybe two, but you just snapped.

It was a little while after you were fired.

Our first-anniversary gift, the ruby necklace you’d gotten me, shattered in your quivering fists.

The housewarming vase your mother surprised us with all those years ago came next.

For the next few days, you drank our cabinets dry.

You don’t remember any of this because you were half-drunk when you came home.

I should have known it from your reeking breath and stench of sweaty skin.

You turned our house into a labyrinth of shattered glass and overturned sofas.

How could you not remember that?

How could you not remember me pounding your chest, begging you to stop?

How could you not remember me sobbing funereally?

Simple: you didn’t want to.

Focusing on the past dredges up too much pain.

It’s sad how the past holds so many similarities to our present.

You haven’t changed your habits, you’ve only amped up your anger and tolerance for seeing me shatter further.

Most people regret harsh words tossed around in the heat of the moment. Most people apologize. Most people change their ways.


Your regret comes from not being cruel enough, not fitting into

the stereotypical toxic masculinity figure, not making me sob more.

Your regret isn’t spent with hugs and apologies, it’s compensated for with inebriation and narcotics.

No matter what anyone tells you, you don’t care, nor change.

You’re so damn afraid of losing me that you’d push me away, pull me in, and keep me there. This game has been going on for too long, dear.

It’s not chess anymore, it’s a solo competition.

If you think hurting me makes you a winner, you’re sorely wrong.

You’ll be the true loser. You’ll wish you had won me over instead of losing yourself.

Losing me.

You’re not going to only lose me.

You’re going to lose the remaining pieces of your family, friends, coworkers, even that neighbor who wishes you happy birthday every year.

I hate you so much.

I love you so much.

And that’s why I stay. That’s why I’ve stayed so far.

But, dear, when you find this…well, I’m sure you’ll know what this is.

This isn’t another scribbled, tear-stained page.

This is an explanation for the pallid, limp body dangling from the


This is a good-bye.

This is a reminder that I will forever stay with you.

-Your love

June 20, 2020 19:46

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Neha Dubhashi
19:48 Jun 20, 2020

Tragic, but needed.


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James Ashton
21:42 Jul 01, 2020

The story was well written, and continuing the tragedy till the very end was really good.


Neha Dubhashi
22:17 Jul 01, 2020

Thanks, James!


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Josh C
07:16 Jun 29, 2020

Damn! I did not see that end coming. Tragic, but I think very well written.


Neha Dubhashi
00:14 Jul 01, 2020

Thank you! The ending surprised me too. When the words flow, they flow.


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Katy S.
10:12 Jun 23, 2020

So heartbreaking! But well written, and you managed the tricky " you ".


Neha Dubhashi
19:47 Jun 23, 2020

Thank you!


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Corey Melin
03:28 Jun 22, 2020

Enjoyed the read. Comes to a tragic end, but life is not a happily ever after all the time.


Neha Dubhashi
19:41 Jun 22, 2020

That's very true--thanks for reading!


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Morey Guntz
00:50 Oct 18, 2021

Until the end, this was so familiar. Someone I know was in a similar situation until a few months ago, but they're out of it now and doing a lot better.


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Sierra Butler
14:09 Jun 30, 2020

Tragic and beautiful all at the same time. This is very well written. Good job!!!


Neha Dubhashi
00:11 Jul 01, 2020

Thank you, Sienna!


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16:34 Jun 28, 2020

Eek. I'm sad that she killed herself. I was hoping she'd leave and find her better life. This was mostly easy to read and engaging, but line 26 I read wrong at first. It appeared to me that you changed the person you were addressing as you from the offender to a sympathetic reader. Then I realized that you just assumed something about the offender's thoughts. I also wondered if the partner locks her in does she buy her dress online? If so could she not also call for someone to come get her out of the house? I'd be grateful if you'd review my...


Neha Dubhashi
00:14 Jul 01, 2020

As I was writing the story, I wished for that, too! I kept the details loose so the reader could take away their own interpretation of the story. Thank you for your in-depth observations--and I'd love to drop a review.


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11:18 Jun 28, 2020

GREAT story Neha! Such a sad and heartbreaking story! Loved it!😊😉 Keep writing and have a great day Neha!❤️️


Neha Dubhashi
00:12 Jul 01, 2020

Harshini, so happy to hear from you again! Good day to you too.


01:47 Jul 01, 2020

I'm glad! Keep writing Neha!😉


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