Page 14 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Guilt crept up on me.

“I’ll be more careful with who I fall in love with next time,” I just said.

“And James,” she added. “Whatever happens, don’t ever fall in love with the past anymore, okay?”

This got me wondering.

I looked at her with curious eyes.

Worry marred her expression, laced with a little shame or guilt that I could not figure out why.

Perhaps, I was too heartbroken that I could not even decode correct emotions anymore.

Well, if you had been scarred for too long, would you even have the correct mental and emotional state at all?

“Okay…” I just replied.

Mel shook her head to ease the quiet tension and raised her cup. “To emotional cardio.”

I clinked mine against it.

“To recovery,” I said, not believing a word of it.

It was only three months.

True.

Which sounded reasonable until I remembered I had spent those three months thinking he might be my forever.

CHAPTER 3

WHAT IN THE MAMMA MIA?!

It was my birthday, but not the kind where you woke up feeling older and wiser, like a character in a coming-of-age movie. No. This one felt more like I had woken up inside the same mess I had fallen asleep in.

Heartbroken. Hungover on memories. And thirty minutes away from breaking down.

My apartment looked incredible though.

I lived in a loft-style unit, with two floors, high ceilings, clean lines, and just enough neutral tones to make it look like a Pinterest board for young professionals who drank oat milk and had commitment issues.

I loved it here.

People online always said my place looked like someone who had their life together: the living area opened to a wide window that looked out toward the glowing skyline of Southside, the kitchen counter was spotless, the marble island gleamed under the warm studio lights, the wine glasses arranged like I was hosting a lifestyle vlog—which was funny, because my apartment never looked emptier.

But that was the thing about heartbreak. Nothing actually disappeared.

The city was still alive outside my windows. My friends were still on their way over. Music playing softly from the speakers. All my stuff was still exactly where I left them.

But somehow everything felt… hollow.

I checked my phone again—out of habit.

No message.

Not from him.

Not today.