I never believed in love. My dad told me it was a lie, that people aren’t meant to stay together, and I took that to heart—hard. I drink too much, sleep with anyone, and write jokes about it for a men’s magazine. Then I met Aaron.

He’s a sports doctor. Calm. Kind. The kind of man who holds your hand when you panic during an interview. We had sex. I stayed the night. He called the next day. I panicked. Nikki said to cut it off.

But he kept showing up. He drove me to my dad’s after he fell. He held my hand at the hospital. He made me feel safe.

Now he’s telling me he loves me—at my father’s funeral, of all places. I snap at him. I don’t know how to receive love without destroying it.

Later, during his big speech, Dianna calls. I answer. He sees me leave. That night, we fight. He’s too tired for surgery the next morning. He says we need a break.

So I say it: 'Let’s just break up.'

He looks at me, hurt. 'You win,' he says, and walks out.

Now I’m alone, fired, and sobering up. I look at the article I wrote about him—honest, raw, the truth. I send it to him. And I wait.