Page 10 of Cuffed By Your Love

We sat in a quiet silence for a moment as I gathered my thoughts.

“I’m not sad he cheated,” I whispered. “I’m mad I didn’t see it sooner. I’m angry I wasted my time. Mad I let him convinceme I was the one delaying our future because I didn’t want to get pregnant. Angry that I let him gaslight me when I knew something was going on.”

Mrs. Rawlins leaned forward. “Did he ever ask you why you weren’t ready?”

“He didn’t care. He just made me feel like my hesitation meant I was broken or selfish.”

She nodded again. “And were you?”

I shook my head. “No. I was just scared to bring a child into something that didn’t feel solid. I thought that made me wise. He made it sound like I was being difficult, like I was trying to control the pace.”

“Were you?”

I paused. My voice cracked on the answer. “Sometimes.”

And there it was. The admission. The ache.

She handed me a tissue like she had already been waiting for that tear to fall. “Ever heard of weaponized softness, Ms. Jacobson?”

I blinked. “What?”

“It’s when someone presents their needs, their hurt, or their expectations in a way that makes you feel guilty for having boundaries.”

I nodded slowly, that phrase cutting deeper than any insult Kam ever threw at me.

“I think I lived with a man who only needed me when I was silent, submissive, or sexually available.”

“Then let’s work on making you feel safe when you’re vocal, vulnerable, and valuable.”

Something about that sentence knocked the wind out of me. It was as if my spirit had been waiting for it this entire time.

I didn’t say anything, just nodded as my fingers clutched the tissue like it was a lifeline.

By the time I left, I still felt broken. But for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel alone in it.

I decided to go for a run, just a little jog to clear my head. Nothing major; just me, my Bluetooth, and a pair of old leggings that hugged my thighs like memories I wasn’t ready to confront.

The streets of Self Ridge were unusually quiet, the sun stretching its arms across the sky and casting long, crooked shadows on sidewalks that felt too familiar.

I didn’t even stretch; I just took off, my feet hitting the pavement like punctuation marks at the end of unspoken thoughts. My breath came in short spurts, choppy like the voice messages I used to leave Kam when I missed him. Now, I just missed myself. I missed the version of myself that didn’t know heartbreak by name or betrayal by blood.

I made it four blocks before the tension in my chest started to rise. It wasn’t physical fatigue, but that emotional weight that lived in the joints of your spirit after too many disappointments. I pushed harder, letting the rhythm of my sneakers drown out the noise in my head:

You weren’t enough.

That’s why he cheated.

Your womb isn’t worthy.

Your intuition stayed silent too long.

Each lie wrapped itself around my lungs like barbed wire, making it harder to breathe. The air got thick, as if betrayal had a flavor, and I was still tasting it.

By the time I reached the park bench at the corner of Richmond and Bellows, my knees buckled like my faith had arthritis. I collapsed, not gracefully, not poetically. I crumbled,hands on my knees, gasping for breath, tears spilling from my eyes as if they had been waiting for the cue.

A couple of folks walked by pretending not to see. One elderly lady looked like she wanted to stop but didn’t. I didn’t blame her. Broken women were hard to look at. We held up mirrors that people didn’t want to face.

I sobbed quietly, the ugly kind, shoulders shaking, mouth open, but no sound coming out. Not because I couldn’t talk, but because what I needed to say didn’t have words yet, just wounds.