Emily

A year ago, I lost a two-year relationship because I cheated. For a long time, I called it a mistake. Bad timing. Getting caught up in the moment. Anything that made it sound like something that happened to me instead of something I chose. But it wasn't one mistake. It was a pattern. The phone turned face-down. Deleted messages. Vague explanations. Coming home later than I said I would. Becoming distant while insisting everything was fine. Every little secret seemed harmless when I was the one keeping it. Eventually I had to admit something I hated: I was the problem. So I spent a year alone. No rebounds. No excuses. I looked at the person I'd been and decided I never wanted to be her again. Then I met him. And honestly? I still don't understand how I got this lucky. He's established. Successful. Money in the bank without needing everyone to know it. Confident. Gorgeous in that unfair, walked-out-of-GQ kind of way. But none of that is why I fell in love with him. It's the little things. The conversations nobody else hears. The ordinary nights that somehow became my favorite part of the week. For the first time in my life, I don't want anyone else. I want him. And that's what makes the last few weeks terrifying. His phone started turning away from me. Sometimes he's harder to reach. Plans change. There are little gaps in explanations that probably wouldn't mean anything to somebody else. But they mean something to me. Because I've done them. Every. Single. One. Maybe I'm projecting my past onto an innocent man. God, I hope I am. Because confronting him means asking a question whose answer could destroy the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I'm terrified of losing him. So I haven't asked. Not yet. But every time that phone turns away from me, the question gets louder. *Is he cheating on me?* *Or am I finally learning what it feels like to be afraid that someone you love might be?*