The Other Night He Held Me… and I Let Him
The other night, he held me again.
We still share a bed, even now. And I think that alone says more than enough about how complicated this has all become.
He laid his head on my chest, and for a little while, it felt like comfort. His arms wrapped around me tightly—just like they used to. It was the first time in a long time that I felt close to him again. There was something about his touch that made my heart feel steady for a moment, like maybe I wasn’t alone in this grief. But I knew better. I knew it wasn’t real.
I let him stay there too long. Not because I thought it would fix anything, but because for those few minutes, I needed to feel like I still mattered to him. I needed to feel chosen. Even if it was temporary. Even if it wasn’t true.
Eventually, I pulled away. I always do. Because I know the longer I stay in his arms, the harder it is to face the reality that he doesn’t love me anymore—not in the way I still love him. And the truth is, I can’t keep doing this to myself.
We don’t talk about us anymore. We haven’t in a long time. There are no conversations about what went wrong, no check-ins about how we feel. Just silence. And as painful as that silence is, it still feels easier than hearing the words I’ve already heard before: “I’m not in love with you anymore.”
That sentence did something to me. It shattered something I’m still trying to piece back together. And now, I just sit in the silence and pretend like I’m okay. Because pretending hurts less than hearing that truth again.
What’s hard is that even now, I still get excited when I hear his truck pull into the driveway. I still feel relief when I know he’s home—and not somewhere else with someone else. It’s like I’m living in this constant state of emotional contradiction. I know he’s not mine anymore, but my heart hasn’t caught up with that truth yet.
This in-between space is unbearable. I’m grieving a man who still sleeps in my bed. I wake up next to someone whose heart already left long ago. I see him every day, and every day I feel the same quiet ache that comes from loving someone who doesn’t love me back.
Sometimes I ask myself why he still comes home. Why he still holds me like that. Why he gives me just enough to keep a flicker of hope alive—while at the same time pulling further and further away. I wish I had answers, but all I have are questions and a thousand tiny heartbreaks.
And then I get mad at myself. Because I still want him. I still crave that closeness. I still ache for the version of him that used to make me feel safe, wanted, and loved. I still hold space for someone who’s already moved on emotionally.
Last night, I took a late-night drive. I just needed space, a moment to breathe. And for the first time in a while, he was home before me. My kids told me he asked where I was—and even that surprised me. For a second, I let myself believe it meant he cared. But deep down, I know better. Not in the way I need. Not in the way I deserve.
That’s what I’m trying to accept now—that he doesn’t see me anymore. And that’s what hurts the most.
So now, I’m trying to shift the focus back to me. I have to be the one to care about me, even if he doesn’t. Even if he never will again. I have to stop holding space for someone who’s already let me go. I have to choose myself—because no one else is going to do that for me.
The hardest part is convincing my heart of all of this. My head knows. My soul knows. But my heart is slow to let go. And still, I’m trying.
I keep telling myself that I’ll never love like this again. That I’ll never hand my heart over so completely to someone who won’t protect it. I’ll never live like this again. I’ll never let someone make a home in me only to walk out and leave everything in ruins.
I’ve decided that unless it’s self-love, I’m done.
Because if this is what love feels like…
I don’t want it anymore.
Quote:
“Grieving someone who still shares your bed is the cruelest kind of goodbye.”
With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.