I walked away, not because I gave up, but because I refused to keep fighting for someone who stopped fighting for me.

For so long, I believed that love meant perseverance. I held onto the good memories, convincing myself that if I just tried harder, we could find our way back to what we once were. I ignored the late nights of silence, the empty glances, the way he had slowly become a stranger in our own home. I fought for us, even when I was the only one fighting.

But love should never feel like a one-sided battle. I realized that I was pouring my heart into someone who had already let go. He no longer met me halfway; he no longer reached for me the way he once did. I was clinging to something that no longer existed, exhausting myself in the process.

The day I walked away, I wasn’t weak—I was strong enough to choose myself over a love that no longer loved me back. It hurt. God, it hurt. But staying in a place where I felt unseen and unloved hurt even more.

I didn’t give up—I let go. I chose to stop chasing someone who had already stopped looking back. And in doing so, I realized that sometimes, walking away isn’t losing. Sometimes, it’s the bravest thing a woman can do.