Not Exactly Love: A Memoir

by Betty Hafner

He felt my pain, I know, but he didn’t show it.

“What does a hug mean to you?” The words spilled out. “Glad you’re alive. I love you. I can’t get enough of you.”

I was full of feelings, I know now, but I had buried them deep enough to keep them unearthed until it was safe.

I took a cab back to the apartment, and before the long night’s sleep that followed, I promised myself I would plan the rest of my life in the morning.

I understand now that the time and emotional space I gave myself to heal and grow was the kindest thing I could have done for myself.