Page 183 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

The bus arrived a few minutes later with a long mechanical groan.

The doors folded open.

It was almost ten. So the bus was empty.

I climbed in quietly, tapped my card against the scanner, then moved toward the very back where nobody could look at me too closely.

The seat beside the window was cold when I sat down.

Then the bus pulled away from the curb.

And suddenly, there was nothing left to distract me anymore.

No people.

No city noise loud enough to drown my thoughts.

No Victor standing in front of me to keep me composed.

Just the low hum of the engine, and the rattling of metal, and the city blurring outside the window.

And me.

And then, my chest folded inward so violently and haphazardly that it felt physical.

I pressed my lips together immediately, trying to stop it… trying to breathe through it… trying so hard not to completely shatter right there.

But I couldn’t anymore.

The first tear slipped out before I could stop it.

Then another. Then suddenly, I was crying so hard my body started shaking with it.

Silent at first.

Then ugly.

Then painful.

I bent forward slightly, covering my mouth with my hand as if that could somehow contain the sound of my heartbreak.

Because this—this was the real grief of it.

It didn’t feel triumphant.

Walking away from someone you still loved didn’t feel brave in the moment. It felt like tearing your own heart out and forcing yourself to keep living anyway.

I cried harder at that realization.

The city lights outside smeared into streaks through my tears.

And somewhere between one shaky breath and the next, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

My hands trembled as I unlocked it.

Then instinctively, I opened TikTok.

The front camera reflected my face back at me.