Jack continued down the empty street, but no matter how far he walked, he couldn't escape the weight that pressed down on his chest. His legs moved forward, but his thoughts stayed stuck at the restaurant window, replaying the scene over and over again. Samantha sat there with that smug stranger, laughing like she hadn't ruined him. Smiling like she didn't know how much he had given up for her. His heart twisted in his chest, not just because of what he saw but because of what he knew. He wanted so badly to lie to himself. To pretend that if Samantha came crawling back, if she stood before him right now and told him she made a mistake, he would walk away without a second thought. He wanted to believe he was strong enough to say no. That he had finally reached the point of no return, that he wouldn't let her break him again.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
If Samantha looked him in the eyes and told him she still loved him, even if it was a lie, he would believe her. He would open his arms, let her walk right back into his life, and pretend none of this ever happened. That's how deep her grip was on him. That's how badly he wanted to feel loved, even if the love wasn't real. Even if it hurt every time she touched him, every time she spoke to him like he was less than nothing. That truth made him feel even worse. He wasn't strong. He was weak. And his weakness had a name. Samantha. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't even bother to check it. Probably some message from a debt collector or a spam email. It wasn't like anyone really checked in on him anymore. Not even his own family.
That thought pulled him into another memory. One that stung just as much as everything else.
He had graduated from high school with nothing but a thin certificate and a heart full of stubborn pride. His father had tried to guide him, tried to tell him to stay home, go to community college, save money, and build slowly. But Jack didn't want to hear it. He had already made up his mind. He had argued with his father for days, shouting and insisting that he was ready to be a man, that he could make it on his own. He packed his things one morning and stormed out, full of anger and confidence, ignoring his dad's final words.
But the truth was never about independence. It wasn't about chasing a dream or building a better future. The truth was far more embarrassing, far more painful to admit. He left home because of Samantha.
He didn't want to share her anymore. He didn't want curfews, rules, or his father's watchful eye. He wanted to be alone with her. To be free. To finally have her to himself. He imagined late nights watching movies together, waking up beside her, and building a little life together in a small apartment. In his mind, it was perfect. They were going to grow together, love each other through the struggle, and one day look back and smile at how far they had come.
That fantasy crumbled faster than he could have imagined.
They moved in together shortly after he left his father's house. At first, it felt like a dream. Samantha stayed over, helped decorate the apartment, and filled it with her presence. But then the cracks began to show. She was never satisfied. Every time Jack made money from a shift, she wanted to eat out. When he bought groceries, she said the food was too plain. She asked for new clothes, for little vacations, for expensive things they couldn't afford. Jack, desperate to please her, worked extra hours, took side gigs, skipped meals, and wore the same worn-out clothes for months. Every dollar went to keep her happy. But no matter how much he gave, it was never enough. And then the coldness began. The distance. She stopped kissing him the way she used to. She no longer laughed at his jokes. Every conversation turned into an argument, or worse, silence. She started leaving the house for hours without saying where she was going. She turned off her phone at night. And when he asked if everything was okay, she would sigh and say, "You're too clingy, Jack. I need space."
Still, he held on.
The worst part was that they hadn't even had sex. Not once since they moved in together. Every time he tried to get close, she pulled away. She would say she wasn't in the mood, or that she was tired, or that she didn't feel like being touched. Jack, ashamed, humiliated, and confused, would just nod and back away. He started to think something was wrong with him. That maybe he wasn't attractive enough. Maybe she was just going through a phase. Maybe if he worked harder, gave more, stayed patient, things would change. But they never did.
Now, several months had passed. He had barely any savings. He was behind on rent. The job he had clung to like a lifeline had just been ripped from his hands. And the girl he had abandoned his home and his father for was sitting in a restaurant with another man, laughing and glowing like she had never been more alive. He reached a small park and collapsed onto a bench, his hands covering his face. He sat there quietly as the sky grew darker and streetlights flickered to life. He felt hollow, like someone had scooped out everything inside him and left only a shell. His stomach growled, but he had no appetite. He felt the sting of shame, and the more he thought about it, the more he hated himself.
How had he let it get this far? How had he given up everything for someone who never once treated him like he mattered?
He remembered how strong he used to feel. How people used to respect him. He had friends once, real friends, but he had pushed them away for Samantha. Every time someone tried to warn him, he defended her. He called them jealous, saying they didn't understand her. But they did. They saw it from the start. He was the only one who didn't want to see it.
His throat tightened as the memory of his dad's face came back to him. That last moment before he left home. His dad had stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes tired but full of something deeper. Not anger. Not frustration. But sadness. "You're not ready, son," he had said. "But you'll find out soon enough."
And Jack had scoffed. Said something cocky. Slammed the door.Now, sitting on a cold bench with nothing to his name and a heart full of regret, Jack finally understood what his father meant. He wasn't ready. Not then. And maybe not now. But it was too late for apologies. Too late for pride. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers curled into fists. The streets were quieter now. Fewer people walked past. The cold air nipped at his skin. But he didn't move.
He didn't know what tomorrow would look like. He didn't know where his next meal would come from. He didn't know if he could ever forgive himself for the choices he had made. But sitting there in the dark, one thing had finally become clear. He couldn't go back.
Not to Samantha. Not to the way things used to be. Not to his Dad, either. If he went back, it would mean he had given up. No, he couldn't give up. He had to persevere. If he couldn't take any of his Dad's teachings, he would take the one that said never to give up. He would try even harder not because he was proud and didn't want to admit his father was right, but because he was strong.