As a woman, large and important choices are a part of every relationship, even if such pivotal moments are rarely revealed until long after the fact. Date him, don’t date him, stay or go, quit or persevere.
When my last lover said we were through, the blade of ice stabbing my heart spread until my teeth chattered. Everything I knew was dying and the dying went on for days and weeks and months.
Maybe I had chosen to stay, despite his grossly inappropriate behavior, because who knows how many more chances there are. We get older, grayer, less able to put ourselves in the path of rejection (or perhaps just less interested).
Eventually, and partly because I refused to allow him to win, I re-entered the race and … perhaps not surprisingly … came out with a winner. Just going to show that making a choice to leave sooner could have made life a whole lot nicer … a whole lot longer.