The Therapy of Letting Go

“There’s nothing between me and her!”

Really?

Everything about our relationship was something I learned through Peter’s experience.

He used to say everyone had a past.

Was I really just overreacting?

But later, he kept going to see Julia again and again.

Even on our anniversary, when she called sounding shaken and said, “I’m scared.”

Peter left me sitting in the restaurant without a second thought.

That night, I waited until four in the morning before he came back.

His hair was damp.

He had clearly just taken a shower.

When he opened the door, he met my red, tear-filled eyes.

A flicker of panic crossed his face before he said, “I thought you were asleep, so I took a shower at Julia’s place. Nothing happened between us.”

I answered him by throwing a glass of water at him.

The worst fight we’d ever had broke out.

My breathing was uneven, and anger twisted my words.

“She’s still married, and you’re desperate to play the homewrecker? You two make me sick!”

“Smack—”

The slap landed hard across my face, swelling instantly.

Peter’s expression was cold.

“Watch your mouth. Don’t you dare slander Julia’s name.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

Suddenly, the man in front of me felt like a stranger.

“You don’t trust me at all. With you like this, we can’t go on. Let’s break up.”

He said the words as if they meant nothing.

Yet back when we were dating, he hated it whenever I even mentioned breaking up.

That very day, Peter packed his suitcase and left.

I stayed in our apartment, numb and lost.

I couldn’t eat a single bite, just went through the motions.

In the neighborhood chat, Julia posted a short video of a man clumsily cooking in the kitchen:

[No one at home knows how to cook.]

There was no doubt that the man in her video was Peter.

[Does anyone know a housekeeper who can come over to cook for two people who prefer bold, spicy dishes?]

I liked spicy food too.

But Peter always preferred bland dishes and couldn’t handle spicy ones.

I always bent to his preferences, eating bland food just to match his.

But now, he could share spicy meals with Julia.

I went to his office.

He seemed completely unaffected.

He worked as usual, confident and composed, and after work, he even stopped by a flower stand and bought a bouquet.

I’d never received flowers from Peter.

After all, we were saving up for marriage, so there was never room for that kind of expense.

Almost masochistically, I scrolled through Peter’s social media, checking his music app’s following list one by one.

That was where I found Julia.

And the record showing they’d been listening to songs together late at night, even back when we were still together.

I ran into the bathroom and threw up for a long time.

I once thought that the half apple left on the table was the rotten one.

But the half I’d eaten was rotten too.

Within a month, I lost fifteen pounds.

I was like someone drowning, cold lake water slowly filling my nose and mouth, flooding into my chest and stomach.

No one could save me.

And I couldn’t find a way to save myself until I went to see a therapist.

She said, “Have you ever heard of exposure therapy?”

It was a kind of therapy that meant facing the pain, offering love willingly, until disappointment gradually wore that love away.

So that day, I put on makeup, changed into new clothes, lifted a smile, and went to see Peter.

A flicker of admiration crossed his eyes, but he still said reservedly, “Do you realize your mistake now?”

Did I?

Of course I did.

My mistake was not seeing him clearly enough, not having the courage to let go, and still holding onto foolish hope for him.

Just like that, we got back together.