We were yelling. I don’t even remember what started it.

You were frustrated. I was overwhelmed. My chest was tight, my head was spinning, and everything you said felt like a needle to the heart.

“Why won’t you just talk to me properly for once?!”

That’s when I snapped. For the first time. I slammed my hand down on the table. I didn’t mean it to be loud. I didn’t want to scare you. I just… couldn’t hold it in anymore.

But that one slam…

It shook the table. And I heard the sound.

Crash.

I turned—and saw it.

The glass jar. The one you made for me. The one filled with little love notes in your handwriting—your reasons why you loved me. Your doodles. Your encouragements.

It hit the floor and shattered.

But worse—

On top of the jar… was the little clay figurine. A tiny version of me, holding a heart with your name in it. You sculpted it for me. I carried it around like it was sacred.

When it fell… it split clean in two.

Just like my chest.

I dropped to my knees immediately, heart pounding in my ears. I didn’t breathe. I just started picking it up—

The paper was already stained. The glass had cut me, but I didn’t care. I pressed the broken clay together, but my hands were shaking so hard it slipped from my grip again.

“No… no, no, no, please—”

I tried to hold it together. Literally.

“I can fix it… I can fix it, I swear—”

I grabbed glue. My hands were slippery—bloody, trembling. The more I tried, the worse it got. I smeared glue over the cracks, pressing the halves together. I didn’t even know if I was breathing anymore.

You stood still. You didn’t say anything.

And the silence broke me even more.

“I didn’t mean to—” I whispered.

“I was just scared… I didn’t want to hurt anything—I didn’t want to hurt you—”