I confessed to him. It felt like being cut open with a sharp surgery knife from the navel and up to my bottom lip. As if all was uncovered, naked and vulnerable. It was liberating and agonising at the same damn time. He didn't say anything about it. He's good that way. Sparing my pride. But I'm also very sad, because by saying nothing he says it all. It's not an outcome that I hadn't predicted. I knew all along. But I guess it was always nice to have the option of pretending. And now can't anymore. It helps that he's far away. It helps me put distance.