The ride away was brutal. Soul-crushing, even. It ruined me to leave her, but I had to keep pushing it into my brain that I was doing it for her.

She wouldn’t thrive living with a monster like me. I supposed that’s what I want myself, and her, to think. It was easier that way. If she hated me, maybe I could live with my horrid decisions, rather than if she still loved me all the while I left without so much as a note.

I willed myself to rid my mind of beautiful, now haunting, memories of my girl. I wished it didn’t have to be so hard. After all, what use is this ring in my coat pocket if I had to leave her anyway?