I've watched her try—really try—to make time for me, to show me I matter. The late-night calls, the surprise visits, the way she’d squeeze me into her packed schedule like I was something precious.

But it was never enough. Not for me.

I told myself to be grateful, to accept what she could give, but the loneliness still crept in, settling deep in my bones. No matter how much she loved me, I always felt like I was waiting—waiting for more, for something she could never seem to give.

"I'm done," I murmured, my voice barely holding steady. My eyes burned, but I refused to let the tears fall. "I know you love me. But love alone isn’t enough."