The Email I Read Three Times Before Responding

I opened the email and closed it again.
Then I opened it once more.

I already knew responding would change things.

It wasn’t long.
Just a few lines.
Polite. Careful. Almost too calm.

I told myself I’d reply later.
After I had time to think.
After I figured out the right words.

But the truth was, I understood it immediately.

We hadn’t spoken in months.
Not properly.
Life had moved on in small, quiet ways.

The email didn’t ask for much.
Just clarity.
Just an answer I’d been avoiding.

I reread one sentence again and again.
The part that sounded neutral but wasn’t.
The part that carried everything underneath it.

I realised then that silence had already been an answer.

If I replied honestly, something would end.
If I didn’t reply at all, something else would.

I stared at the screen longer than I want to admit.

When I finally typed a response, it was shorter than the email itself.
Kind. Direct. No explanations.

After I sent it, I didn’t feel relief.
Just a strange stillness.

Some choices don’t explode.
They just settle quietly into place.

And you only understand what you chose
after there’s no way back.