She wasn’t sad, she wasn’t in pain. All she was feeling was anger. She was so angry.
It wasn’t because their love was over, or because things hadn’t worked out the way she had hoped. She wasn’t angry because she loved him so much that she had given up half of her dreams for him. She wasn’t angry because she lost herself in the process of loving him. She wasn’t angry because he lied to her and made her feel like a fool for trusting him. It wasn’t even because he had ruined every memory she had, every ounce of joy she had allowed herself – not because he’d taken the happy girl out of her and replaced her with a numb, careless version of herself.
She was angry because she had tried so hard to make things work. Because she had given so much of herself to something that must have been doomed from the start. She was angry because she had allowed herself to love a person who would never have understood that love. She was angry because she had broken her own heart.