In the end, I broke her.
Life isn't what we want it to be. It isn't happy endings, it isn't riding away into the sunset. That's what were taught it is. Our parents put us to sleep with fairytales, and we think one day that will be us. It's not. Maybe it is, for those lucky few. Those couple who we all envy, who brought the fairytale to life. But that wasn't us.
At least, not in the end.
In the beginning, maybe it was. In the beginning, I was so stupid. I thought our story would end with us at 90 years old, holding hands on a porch somewhere out in the country, grandkids all around us.
How could I have been so stupid?
I had fallen in love with a woman who broke hearts as easily as she solved crimes. But I knew she wouldn't break mine. I knew she cared about me too much. And I was right. She did care about me too much. Loved me with every bone in her body. Loved me with everything she had.
In the end, I broke her.
I broke the strongest woman I knew. The woman who was untouchable, who was so strong, so powerful, so capable. How did I manage to do it? How did I manage to break her so bad that she sat in the corner, knees pulled to her chest, sobbing? Break her so bad that she left Las Vegas with a few words scrawled on a piece of paper?
I thought about going after her. I thought about driving all over the country, looking for her. I thought about apologizing, begging her to come back.
But I knew I couldn't.
Because of those that letter she left on the kitchen counter.
"If you love me, you'll let me go.