They say when you fall in love, you lose pieces of yourself.
I didn't lose pieces.
I handed them over.
Willingly.
Gratefully.
To a man who never asked.
To a man who never needed to take.
Because I gave.
He didn't steal my freedom.
He made me believe I was freer with him than without.
That was his gift.
That was his curse.
Ethan Hart wasn't the villain.
Not in the beginning.
He was the storm I thought I could weather.
The fire I thought I could hold.
The kind of love that felt like safety, right until it didn't.
By the time I realized what I had become in his arms, I couldn't remember who I was without him.
But love is only love when it allows you to stay whole.
And mine?
Mine taught me how to break beautifully.
And how to rebuild—on my own terms.
This is not just the story of how I loved him.
It's the story of how I chose myself.