Where The Sky Forgets Your Name

Summary

I have an anxious attachment style. The clinicians call it relational hyper-vigilance, but in plain terms, I simply cannot breathe without the certainty of being loved. I need the weight of another person’s presence in the room just to feel tethered to the earth.

So when Daniel asked for a divorce again, the world inside my head collapsed into static.

I lost all reason. I seized the glass kettle from the counter—water still bubbling furiously inside—and shattered it against the hardwood right at his feet. Boiling water and jagged shards exploded across the floor, scalding his leather shoes.