This wasn’t a fight; it was an autopsy. No doors slammed, no voices raised—just a quiet conversation in the dark where I finally said the words I had been holding for years: "I don't need you anymore." When he asked what happened to us, I didn't give him a list of grievances. I simply pointed to the letters he never read and the messages he ignored. I didn't explode; I just let the silence sit between us. That night, the shift wasn't dramatic, but it was real. For the first time in a decade, he stopped looking past me and started seeing the woman who was tired of carrying his world. We aren't "fixed," and the scars are still there, but for the first time in forever, I was finally heard. "I wasn't waiting for an apology. I was waiting to be seen."