I turned before she could see my face break and walked back to the car, each step heavier than the last.

Over the next few days, my phone wouldn’t stop lighting up with her name.

Missed calls.

Text messages.

Voice messages that started strong and ended shaky.

“Please, sweetheart. Just come talk to me. Please.”

But I was furious. Hurt in a way that felt permanent. I told myself that if she truly loved me, she would have chosen me over anyone.

So I didn’t answer.

Five weeks later, I got the call.

She was gone.

A heart condition, they said. Sudden, but not unexpected.

I didn’t know what that meant at the time. I just felt numb — like someone had turned down the volume on the world.

At the funeral, her boyfriend approached me. His eyes were swollen, his voice unsteady.

“She wanted to tell you,” he said. “But you wouldn’t answer.”