Chapter 9 - Not Enough

Patty told me she dreamed about Poppy the other night—said it was good, peaceful even. I can’t remember the last time mine felt anything like that.

In my dreams, he’s always the same. Distant. Angry. Sick in a way that seeps into everything. Sometimes he doesn’t even speak—just stands there, quiet—but somehow that silence is louder than anything he ever said. It’s the kind of quiet that presses in on your chest until you can’t breathe.

I wish it were different. 

But maybe the truth is buried in that darkness—that I’m not as healed as I pretend to be. That forgiveness is still this jagged thing I can’t quite hold without bleeding.

Because I don’t forgive him. Not really.

I don’t forgive him for teaching me that I’m unlovable. That I’ll never be enough. That there’s always something wrong with me, something to fix, something to prove. I don’t forgive him for making worth feel like something I have to earn instead of something I’m allowed to have.

And maybe the worst part?

I still carry it. Every bit of it.

It’s there in the way I flinch when someone gets too close. In the way I brace for rejection before it even has a chance to happen. In how I push people away the second they start to matter—because somewhere deep down, I’m still that person he convinced me I was.

The one who gets left.

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