She never asked him to come back. She was too stubborn, too proud, too independent. She didn’t call. She didn’t text. She didn’t say hello. He didn’t come back. He never called. He walked past her without dignifying her with a glance. But every once in a while, he would text her. He would text her what she wanted to read, he would ask her how she was doing, what she’d been up to. From time to time he gave her the impression that he cared. And her heart would break some more every time her phone lit up with his name. It was his way to remind her that he still existed, that he was there, that he would wait for her to come crawling back to him if he called her name. It was his insurance. If he kept being friendly, then maybe she’d come back when he needed her again. When he wanted her again. When he thought she was good enough again. But what he didn’t know was that the more time passed, the more months went by with him leading her on and feeding her lies, the more her heart cut off the ties that bound it to his. And she wouldn’t come back. She’d never come back.