It wasn't what he did.
It was what he almost did.
How he almost cared.
Almost stayed.
Almost chose me.
I built entire castles in my heart
based on his almosts.
And then I stood there — heart in pieces —
wondering why everything hurt
when technically… he didn't do anything wrong.
But that's the worst kind of ache, isn't it?
The one you can't explain.
Because it wasn't abuse.
It was neglect disguised as kindness.