Polyamory Day 2.712K
Is this the end?
He's been gone for twenty-eight days now without a trace. I could track him. But what happens when I find him? A part of me thinks this is for the best, even though the pain feels unbearable. It will pass if I wait long enough. Soon he'll forget about me... I don't want him to. But I know what I want is selfish and not love. I should want him to forget and move on. I should want him to be happy and free to be with others. And yet, I somehow can only want that when he's with me. Why is that? When has my love turned selfish?
I know I'll... go on like before... in time.
How long? Six years after Roberto was gone. Maybe another six years. The thought made me laugh a bitter laugh.
This heartbreak feels both new and old.
At least this time... I knew it would end before we even started.
At least this time... I don't feel as lost.
At least this time... I don't feel as hopeless and helpless.
At least this time... I know we'll live on.
I'm a coward. I've worked so hard to confront my greatest failure. I didn't know it would lead to my greatest fear as well. I'm being left behind again. At least this time... I know why. I can't love him and be poly. He can't love me and be secured. It's better that he loves her. It's better that he chooses her. I know this. Somehow it both hurts and feel comforting. We are what we've always been. Doomed from the start.
I'm a coward. Where can I borrow some courage?
If I wait long enough...
Ace.
###
Mohamad springs up from his seat. The movement is abrupt enough to startle the room. He doesn't notice. His eyes lock onto the phone in his hand as he walks out mid-meeting. Words continue behind him — projections, timelines, regulatory approvals — irrelevant. He doesn't hear them.
The notification sits open. Property access revoked. Primary biometric profile removed. Ownership transfer authorization pending. Secondary resident: removed.
He stops walking. She changed the locks. No. She didn't change them — she removed herself. Transferred the house to him. Cleared her access. Deleted her profile. Left.
Mohamad's breathing grows heavier. Not fast — deeper. Like his lungs aren't filling correctly. What—This is—
His thoughts stall. No structure. No analysis. Just a blank, widening space. She's leaving. The realization lands all at once. Not angry. Not waiting. Not ignoring.
Leaving. His chest tightens sharply. He doesn't allow the feeling to form. Doesn't name it. Doesn't examine it.
He turns immediately. No hesitation. No decision. Just movement. He pushes back into the conference room. Jason stops mid-sentence the moment he sees him.
Mohamad doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. Jason sees his face. Something in his expression — wrong. Urgent. Controlled too tightly.
Jason closes his laptop instantly. "We'll continue later."
Chairs shift. Silence spreads. Mohamad is already turning away. He continues down the hallway. Fast. Controlled. Not quite running.
Jason hurries behind him. "What's happening?"
"LA. Now."
The words come low. Immediate. Final.
Jason doesn't ask again. He gets on the phone ordering to have the jet ready.
###
His absence carved a hollow space within me. At night, I cling to his clothes, their lingering scent my only solace. When the glass house becomes a prison of memories, every corner haunted by echoes of his touch and our stolen moments, I decide to return to my parents' home. The thought of never seeing him again eats away at me, as if I'm unraveling thread by thread.
I'm furious with myself for ignoring my friends' advice. If I'd mentioned polyamory earlier, maybe his absence wouldn't feel so excruciating. But would it have hurt less? If I'd kept silent about it, could we have stayed together longer?
As the Uber carries me back to my parents' house, my thoughts spiral—half hope, half despair—and my heart aches for him. Through a blur of tears, my eyes land on the small suitcase I've packed, each item inside is a piece of my broken heart.
"Are you okay?" the Uber driver asks, his kind voice tinged with hesitation.
"I'm fine, sorry. I just—"
Unable to meet his gaze, tears streak unchecked down my face, my soul awash with the agony and sorrow that has taken root deep within. After a hollow greeting to my parents, I retreat to my room and flip open the suitcase. The sight of the six cologne bottles hits like a punch to the gut, a reminder of my failure and his absence. My legs buckle, and I sink to the floor, a hand over my mouth to smother the sobs. I should've left them behind—his scent is too much, too sharp, too everything. Grabbing the bottles, I shove them into the farthest corner of the closet, reminding myself that I have to return them to the glass house once I have the strength to let go.