Angelina told Anthony to go back to his family

 The rain was a relentless curtain, mimicking the storm inside Angelina. She stood on the porch, the humid air slick against her skin, watching Anthony pack his duffel bag. Each item he folded, each zipper he fastened, was a hammer blow against the fragile structure of their life, a life they had painstakingly built, brick by precarious brick, for the past five years. 

“Are you sure, Angelina?” Anthony finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and pleading. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead, making him look younger, more vulnerable than she remembered.

She swallowed, the lump in her throat a painful obstruction. “I’m sure, Anthony.”

The words were a lie, a harsh, necessary deception. She wasn't sure at all. Uncertainty had been her constant companion for months, a gnawing fear that ate away at her joy, her sleep, her very soul. But she couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t burden him with the weight of her decision.

“But… everything we’ve built…” he stammered, gesturing vaguely at the little cottage they had painted sunshine yellow, at the overgrown garden bursting with her herbs, at the swing set he had lovingly pieced together for their (future) children.

“This isn’t about us, Anthony,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s about your family.”

The truth was, his family had always been a shadow looming over them. Not maliciously, but persistently. His parents, aging and ailing, lived hundreds of miles away, clinging desperately to the idea of Anthony returning home. They needed him, and he, in turn, felt obligated to them.

For years, they had juggled phone calls, rushed visits, and a constant undercurrent of guilt that tugged at Anthony. Angelina had tried to be supportive, encouraging him to visit, helping him send care packages. But the strain had been building. The unspoken question, the unspoken resentment, had festered in the quiet spaces between them  Then came the crisis. His mother’s fall, her subsequent hospital stay, and the stark reality that his parents couldn’t care for themselves anymore. Anthony had been consumed with worry, torn between his responsibility to them and his commitment to Angelina.

She had watched him wither, his laughter fading, his eyes haunted by the weight of impossible choices. He was perpetually exhausted, his mind filled with logistics and anxieties she couldn’t fully comprehend.

And one night, lying in bed, listening to his shallow, troubled breathing, she knew. She knew she couldn’t ask him to choose her over his family. It would be a slow, agonizing death for their relationship, poisoning it with bitterness and regret.

So she had made the decision for him.

“They need you, Anthony,” she said again, her voice stronger this time. “They need you more than I do.”

He shook his head, tears mingling with the rain on his face. “That’s not true, Angelina. I need you. I love you.”

Her heart clenched. She loved him too. Maybe that was why she was doing this.

“Loving me means nothing if you’re constantly feeling guilty, if you’re constantly wishing you were somewhere else,” she said, pushing the words out like jagged shards of glass. “Go home, Anthony. Take care of your family. Do what you need to do.”

He finally zipped up his bag, the sound echoing in the strained silence. He walked to her, his face etched with pain. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of her cheekbones.

“I’ll never forget you, Angelina,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “Never.”

Then he kissed her, a lingering, desperate kiss that tasted of rain and tears and the bittersweet knowledge of what they were losing He picked up his bag and walked away, disappearing into the storm.

Angelina stood on the porch, watching until the taillights of his car faded into the distance. The rain continued to fall, washing away the footprints he had left behind. She was alone, the silence deafening, the emptiness a gaping wound in her chest.

She went inside, shut the door, and leaned against it, letting the tears finally fall, a torrent as relentless as the rain outside. She had told him to go back to his family, but in doing so, she had lost her own. The future they had so carefully envisioned had vanished, leaving behind only the hollow echo of what might have been. And all she could do was stand there, in the ruins of their love, and pray that she had done the right thing, for both of them