Lessons Written in Red Flags

A hello, a quick check-in, a moment stolen between long shifts. It felt almost sweet. Freedom. Independence.

She floated through the office like she belonged, instantly adored by everyone. Including me.

For a while, it did feel simple. Calm. Light. Until I decided to let my dog off the leash.

A couple nights into the trip, we were wandering the old town when she looked at me and said casually, “I just want to throw you from this wall.”

A few days later came the voice notes. Lengthy reflections, further explanations, deeper layers of the soup saga. I listened, but I didn’t respond.

She did describe herself openly as troubled, but it was something I initially brushed off as endearing vulnerability. She even drew me a chart to explain her complexities. Helpful, I guess?

Then one night, she asked if she could stay over. Not a big deal on its own, but definitely out of character. It was a weeknight, and she usually treated those as off-limits. Her boundary, not mine. But I liked that she asked. I said yes.

Less than an hour after dropping her off, I got an urgent text. "Something happened yesterday. It's eating me alive. Can I come over now?"