That night, after Chloe finally fell asleep, I stayed awake staring at the ceiling again.
The room was dark except for the faint light coming through the curtains.
Every few minutes, my thoughts drifted unwillingly back to the marks on Chloe's neck.
Not because I judged her.
I didn't.
It just reminded me how different my own relationship experience had been.
Or maybe how confusing it had been.
I turned onto my side slowly and pulled the blanket tighter around myself.
Ryan and I had never gone far physically.
Mostly kissing.
Holding hands.
Small things.
At the time, I used to think that meant he respected me.
But now, lying there in the dark, memories started replaying differently.
The way he used to get annoyed whenever I stopped him from doing more.
The sighs.
The guilt-tripping.
The way his mood would suddenly change if I said no too many times.
"You don't trust me?"
"Other girlfriends don't act like this."
"You make me feel unwanted."
At the time, I always ended up apologizing.
Even when I didn't fully understand what I was apologizing for.
My chest tightened uncomfortably.
I remembered one night especially clearly.
I had told him no repeatedly, quietly laughing at first because I thought he was joking.
But Ryan kept pushing anyway.
Not physically forcing me—
But emotionally.
Pouting. Getting cold. Acting hurt until I felt guilty enough to start questioning myself instead.
And somehow, by the end of the conversation, I was the one comforting him.
The memory made something sharp rise inside my chest suddenly.
Anger.
Real anger.
Not sadness.
Not heartbreak.
Hatred.
I sat up slightly in bed, breathing unevenly.
How did I never realize how manipulative that was?
How did I spend so long missing someone who made me feel guilty for my own boundaries?
The realization hit hard enough to make my stomach twist.
Because suddenly all those reels he kept sending made more sense too.
The controlling ones.
The passive-aggressive ones.
The constant need to make me feel like I was doing something wrong.
A sudden wave of disgust washed over me.
I grabbed my phone from beside me and opened our chat for the first time properly in days.
Dozens of reels.
Messages asking why I changed.
Why I stopped replying.
Why I seemed distant.
I stared at his name for a long moment.
And for the first time since the breakup, I didn't miss him at all.
Not even a little.
Instead, I felt angry at myself for holding onto him this long.
Angry that I let him make me feel difficult for saying no.
Angry that I spent weeks wondering if he still cared while he spent that same time making passive-aggressive comments through Instagram reels.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Then, before I could overthink it—
I blocked him.
The silence afterward felt immediate.
Heavy.
But also strangely relieving.
I stared at the screen for a second after doing it.
My heart was racing slightly.
Not from regret.
From freedom.
Like something toxic had finally been cut away completely.
Beside me, Chloe shifted slightly in her sleep but didn't wake up.
I slowly locked my phone and leaned back against the wall.
And for the first time in months, thinking about Ryan didn't make me feel sad.
It just made me realize I deserved better than someone who treated my boundaries like inconveniences.