She asked if I married him

My 19 year old self met me at the threshold just as I was about to step out and greet the morning birds.

She asked, “Did you marry him?”

I shifted awkwardly. “I’m not following.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Val. Stop bullshitting.”

I exhaled. “Fine. I didn’t marry him. Or the one after him the one I swore was ‘the one.’ Or the next. Or the next.”

She squealed.

I smirked. “In the end, I met myself and learned how to be mine.”

She sighed, smiling. “So… you won your own heart. That’s a total win.”

I chuckled. “Doesn’t mean every day’s fireworks. Yesterday was painfully mundane. I almost did something destructive, but I reminded myself who I am. I sat with the boredom. The cold. Until it felt… good. Just being.”

Her eyes glowed with pride.

“I’ve taken a lot of L’s this week,” I went on. “Almost spiraled. But my regulated nervous system held me together. I took the punches without folding. That’s real. I even wrote it in my diary.”

She nodded slowly. “Maybe it’s not so bad you didn’t marry him. You needed to meet this version of you. Maybe you still would have if you had married him… maybe not. Either way, I’m glad you did.”

Then she turned and walked away.

And I sighed.