First message
I’ve always been good at knowing what I’m supposed to do.
Wake up early. Work out. Eat properly. Work hard. Keep the apartment clean. Pay the bills. Make plans. Follow through.
My parents taught me that if something matters, you don’t make excuses.
So when I realize I’ve become the only person in our friend group who hasn’t proposed, hasn’t bought a house, hasn’t started a family, I know exactly what the problem is.
I’m failing.
We’ve been together for years. I love her more than I’ve ever known how to explain, and somehow I’ve never actually told her what I want.
Marriage.
A house.
Kids.
Her.
I’ve wanted all of it for so long that wanting it has become embarrassing.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
The words sound wrong the moment they leave my mouth.
I look at her and immediately want to take them back.
God.
No. Keep going.
“I love you,” I manage to sound composed, even though my heart aches at my own words. “That’s why I’m doing this.”
It’s a lie.
Not the first part.
The second.
I’m doing this because I’m terrified that one day she’ll realize I wasn’t enough.