Chapter 4: Letting Go

When I saw this video, it already had tens of thousands of likes.

The thumbnail had their faces frozen mid-laugh, and it was spreading like wildfire on Instagram stories.

There were countless comments below:

[Wow, this couple is so attractive. I’m shipping them!]

[Oh my, pure love! There’s hope for us all!]

[So sweet. You two must be happy. Wishing you forever.]

People were tagging their friends, screenshotting the moment Jason said her name. Love, or at least the internet’s version of it, was alive and well.

I stared blankly at the video.

Did Jason really like Emily this much?

Did he forget?

Five years ago, we had just gotten married. That was when our love was at its best. Even though we were broke, we were incredibly happy.

We used to eat ramen at the old table Jason found on Craigslist, play cards late into the night, talk about buying a dog. Our dreams were big, even if our bank accounts were empty.

And now, in the video, he says he wishes his self from five years ago could have met Emily first.

I thought I’d be furious, unable to control myself—grabbing my phone to call and question him, and if I couldn’t get through, smashing things in the house to vent.

My hands twitched for a second, but to my surprise, this time I just sat there, motionless.

Those comments that should have stung just scrolled by like lines of code.

The words blurred together, background noise to my own numbness. I realized the pain wasn’t sharp anymore. It was just dull, distant.

It was as if something was slowly being pulled out of me, dissolving.

To my own surprise, I realized—I felt nothing about Jason’s behavior.

Obsession can happen in a moment, and so can letting go.

That’s why I made that call earlier.