During our separation from May 2024 to December 2024, I experienced waves of depression and hopelessness, especially each time I heard Jenna say, “I want a divorce.” Those words shattered me, but I tried to calm my mind and heart, hoping she might change her mind as we worked to save our marriage. Unfortunately, communication was our biggest struggle, and it frustrated both of us deeply.

Eventually, Jenna made the decision to move forward with divorce. My heart ached—I didn’t want this, but I knew I couldn’t force Jenna to stay or change how she felt. After much reflection, I asked if we could remain friends, hoping that maybe we could rebuild a foundation over time. It wasn’t an easy thought for either of us, but I believed it might be the best path for both of us.

Despite everything, I still love and care for Jenna deeply. I respect her with all my heart, and I feel immense sadness and regret for the pain I caused her. I often asked myself so many questions: “Is this really the best choice for us?” “What will I do without Jenna in my life?” “Am I toxic to her?” “Would letting her go bring her peace?”

In the end, I gave Jenna what she wanted: separation and the possibility of divorce. While we haven’t filed for divorce yet, the months leading up to December were incredibly painful. We met occasionally for practical reasons—packing our belongings, cleaning our shared apartment, and deciding who would keep what. Each meeting was heartbreaking. I often found myself in tears as we discussed our marriage and the reality of our separation.

I held onto a fragile hope that we might still have a chance to work things out. But every interaction seemed to worsen the pain, and we both ended up feeling more miserable. The more I tried to accept the reality, the harder it became to process that we were truly no longer together.

I cried countless times, overwhelmed by the realization that Jenna and I had reached the end of our relationship. At moments, I felt like giving up entirely. But I reminded myself that it’s okay to grieve and that I had to keep moving forward, even if it felt impossible.

Through this, I’ve realized how deeply I became attached to Jenna. I didn’t want to lose her and held on tightly to the love I still felt. Even now, I think about her every day, hoping to hear from her. I catch myself checking my phone, wishing for a message from Jenna, but it’s clear that she needs time and space. While this hurts, I know I have to respect her wishes.

Jenna once mentioned that she hopes to be an “active friend” to me in the future. While the idea of a friendship brings some comfort, it also brings immense heartache because it means the relationship we once had is truly over.

I admit that my mind often spirals into overthinking, especially about Jenna moving on. I wonder: “What if Jenna is interested in someone else?” I’ve had hunches, particularly about her seeing someone. The thought of them together makes me cry, but at the same time, I catch myself hoping that Jenna finds someone outside her circle of friends. I want her to grow, explore new opportunities, and embrace new experiences.

Ultimately, I’ve come to realize that letting go might be the best thing for both of us. It’s a painful truth, but it allows us both to grow and learn as individuals. I still struggle with the thought of Jenna being with someone else, but I also want the best for her. Letting go doesn’t mean I stop loving her—it means I’m choosing to respect her wishes and give us both the space to heal and grow.