The Third Time

The first time he broke my heart was in December 2020. We had just made love for the first time. We were snuggled together in his bed, and I was about to drift into blissful sleep. I felt so warm, loved, and held. Then he said, “I think you’re pushing me into a relationship I’m not ready for.”

I got up out of bed, put on my clothes, and drove the half hour back to my apartment, crying the whole way.

The second time he broke my heart was on my birthday 2021. We had gone dancing the night before and spent the afternoon at a shooting range, where he showed me how to shoot a gun for the first time in my life. He had been rather quiet and testy all day. He was looking up restaurant choices for dinner on his phone. I came up behind him and put my arms around him. He pulled away and said, “I have to tell you that have zero romantic feelings for you.”

Then he outlined how great I am, how much fun we have together, and how smart and funny I am—while I sat dumbstruck, tears sliding down my cheeks.

When he was finished, I got in my car to drive home. I stopped at the end of his street. I couldn’t see because I was crying so hard. I texted a friend to meet me at my apartment. Then I drove home and drank wine until I passed out.

The third time he broke my heart was yesterday. This time, he didn’t even face me in person. He sent me an email.  I noticed it while I was at a winery with my mom and sister. They consoled me, hugged me, called him cowardly. My sister had to drive me home later because I was too drunk. 

He says he needs room. He says his whole life has been dominated by women who wanted to control him. He says I’m not like that, but he “feels walls closing in.” He says planning recurring activities for us makes him want to run. He says he wants to spend quality time together but “needs some time off.”

He’s got it. But he won’t get a chance to break my heart a fourth time.