By the time Gabi arrived, I was unraveling, caught in a whirlwind of emotions that left me barely able to think. Leaving an abusive relationship is no simple feat; it demands an immense amount of self-work. I'd been through therapy, yes, but triggers still surfaced, powerful and raw, and often beyond my control. Like when Jude had asked about my ex—harmless curiosity, maybe, but alarm bells went off instantly. I managed to stay grounded, but it was an exhausting battle. Memories surfaced unbidden, sharp-edged and brutal, of my ex grilling me about past experiences, his temper rising with every answer I gave.
When Jude went behind my back, it cut like a blade, slicing open wounds I thought had scarred over. It was a reminder of all the manipulation I had endured —how he would take my phone without permission, severing ties with people he deemed "bad influences," or twisting reality to paint himself as the hero. These memories spun in my head, one after another, until I was dizzy. Jude's secrecy had reignited that old pain, buried but never gone. I had vowed never to let another man pull strings in my life, never to let anyone else decide what was best for me. This life was mine, and I would guard it fiercely.
Gabi walked in, setting down my cat she'd been taking care of, and without a word, she wrapped me in a hug. She held me, waiting, no questions asked, until the storm inside me settled just a bit. She led me to the couch, and as we sat down, she asked, her voice soft with concern, "What's wrong? Do you want to talk about it?"
