It started over something small.

It always does.

“You’ve changed,” I said.

He laughed—like I was joking.

“I’m just tired,” he replied.

But I wasn’t asking about tiredness.

I was asking about us.

The silence that followed was louder than any argument we’d ever had.

“You don’t even try anymore,” I pushed.

That’s when his face changed.

“I’m the only one trying!” he snapped.

“Do you know how much I’m dealing with?”

And just like that… it escalated.

Voices raised.

Words thrown.

Truths mixed with anger.

“You don’t appreciate me!”

“You don’t understand me!”

“Maybe this isn’t working!”

That last one… it hung in the air.

Heavy. Dangerous.

We both went quiet.

Because deep down, we knew—

those weren’t just words.

They were thoughts we had been avoiding.

We didn’t break up that night.

But something shifted.

Something cracked.

And the scary part?

We both felt it… but neither of us knew how to fix it.