One Weekend Too Late

I ruined this. And I still carry it. When I met her, I was surviving

— not living. No money. No safety. Just work, fear,

and exhaustion. She didn’t love me loudly. She loved me quietly. She cooked.

She waited. She never asked for anything. Until one night. She looked at me

and said, “Can you give me just one weekend?” One weekend. I knew exactly what

she was asking for. Time. Presence. Me. And I said no.

I told myself I was being responsible. That love could wait. That success would

fix everything. She cried. Not dramatically. Just… silently. Years later,