Tiana did not confront Joshua.
She chose silence instead, convincing herself that accusations would only push him further away. Love, she believed, should be patient. Understanding. Forgiving.
So she stayed.
Even when Joshua only called when it suited him.
Even when he disappeared without explanation.
Even when sweetness only arrived attached to need.
Whenever he wanted something, his voice softened. His words returned to the familiar rhythm she once trusted. He reminded her of memories, of promises, of feelings she had never fully let go of.
And she responded.
Because love had blinded her to patterns.
She noticed that he never answered her calls anymore. That her messages remained unread until it was convenient. That when she expressed hurt, he brushed it aside or turned it into blame.
"You're overthinking," he said.
"You worry too much."
"You should trust me."
And she tried.
She made excuses for him when her heart ached. She told herself school was stressful, that pressure changed people. She ignored how small she felt when he dismissed her emotions. How invisible she became when he didn't need anything.
Still, she sent money.
Still, she waited.
Still, she loved.
Even when she knew something was wrong, love clung stubbornly to hope. It told her that endurance was loyalty. That pain was temporary. That if she stayed long enough, he would return to who he used to be.
But love should not make you question your worth.
Tiana felt herself fading—laughing less, trusting less, shrinking into someone she barely recognized. Yet even in her pain, she could not let go.
Joshua had been her first love.
Her first trust.
Her first mistake.
And mistakes, she believed, deserved correction—not abandonment.
So she stayed blind.
Calling it love.
Calling it patience.
Calling it hope.
Not knowing that sometimes, love does not need fixing.
Sometimes, it needs leaving.