A Weekend to Remember or Release

My husband has planned a birthday weekend for us in Savannah… a city woven with memories from a time when love came easier, when laughter filled the spaces between us instead of silence. It was once our place, where we felt connected—before the distance, before the damage.

This weekend, I’m choosing to leave the weight of the past behind, if only temporarily, and step into the possibility of what could still be. I want to see if there’s a path forward. To soften. To remember what once made us beautiful together. Maybe even rediscover it… if it’s still there.

But love doesn’t just wake up and forget. He hopes I can simply turn the switch of trust back on—as if the wounds he left behind don’t still ache. I’ve told him before, “You chose to hurt me for years. You don’t get to choose how long it takes for me to heal.” He says he understands. I’m still trying to believe him.

And yet… another man still lingers in the quiet corners of my mind. The one who stirred my soul when everything around me felt numb. I miss him in the spaces no one else can see. Last weekend, I almost reached out. My fingers hovered over the message I didn’t send. But I held back. And somehow, that felt like strength.

I know he’s moved on. Probably hasn’t thought of me since our last words. And maybe that’s what makes this process both harder and freeing. I can’t control who stays, who fades, or who never really belonged to begin with.

But I can control me—my healing, my choices, my heart. And in this strange in-between, I’m learning that maybe the most romantic thing I can do… is choose myself first.