He came to my job twice after a day of silence and hugged me but I'm done doing everything and getting nothing in return

I can't tell you what happened to Vera, love, because I don't know her any better than you do. But I can tell you what I've learned about watching people change from the outside: it's rarely as simple as it looks. People get tired. They get edited. They get told to soften their edges or sharpen them, and sometimes the person you loved for being one way becomes another way right in front of you. Numbers going down is a hard thing to see, I know. But a number is a snapshot, not a verdict. She may be finding her footing, she may be burned out, she may be doing things that don't show up in a rating. And sometimes the change isn't a fall at all, just a different road. You cared enough to notice, and that says something good about you. Give her a little room. If her work still reaches you, keep reading. If it doesn't, that's all right too. People are allowed to change, even the ones we thought we had figured out.

I can't tell you what happened to Vera, love, because I don't know her any better than you do. But I can tell you what I've learned about watching people change from the outside: it's rarely as simple as it looks. People get tired. They get edited. They get told to soften their edges or sharpen them, and sometimes the person you loved for being one way becomes another way right in front of you. Numbers going down is a hard thing to see, I know. But a number is a snapshot, not a verdict. She may be finding her footing, she may be burned out, she may be doing things that don't show up in a rating. And sometimes the change isn't a fall at all, just a different road. You cared enough to notice, and that says something good about you. Give her a little room. If her work still reaches you, keep reading. If it doesn't, that's all right too. People are allowed to change, even the ones we thought we had figured out.

When your body hurts, a vague answer can feel like a riddle. But I don't think you need to solve Andy's sentence tonight. He said he'd let you know. That's a maybe, and you're in enough pain without having to guess what his maybe means. So give the maybe a shape. Tell him: "I need to know by two, or I'll find another ride." That isn't pushy. It's you taking care of a body that's already doing enough heavy lifting. And the doctors: you're not asking for anything strange. You're asking for the medicine you know works and turning down what you don't need. That's clear-eyed. You can say it plainly and hold the line. Your pain is real. You don't owe anyone an apology for knowing what helps you.

When your body hurts, a vague answer can feel like a riddle. But I don't think you need to solve Andy's sentence tonight. He said he'd let you know. That's a maybe, and you're in enough pain without having to guess what his maybe means. So give the maybe a shape. Tell him: "I need to know by two, or I'll find another ride." That isn't pushy. It's you taking care of a body that's already doing enough heavy lifting. And the doctors: you're not asking for anything strange. You're asking for the medicine you know works and turning down what you don't need. That's clear-eyed. You can say it plainly and hold the line. Your pain is real. You don't owe anyone an apology for knowing what helps you.

The word "expect" is doing an awful lot of work in that question, love. Expecting is a promise you make to yourself that another person never signed. So let me flip it: what would you even do with the answer? If I said yes, you'd be glued to that phone and the waiting would eat you alive. If I said no, you'd grieve the breakup twice over, once for them and once for the last of the hope. Neither serves you. What I know from a long life: people get through this when they stop treating their own doorbell as somebody else's to ring. You can't make them come back, but you can make sure you're not standing in the hall the whole time. Live loudly enough that you don't hear the phone. If they call, you'll know what to do when it rings. If they don't, you'll still be living. That's the only expectation worth keeping.

The word "expect" is doing an awful lot of work in that question, love. Expecting is a promise you make to yourself that another person never signed. So let me flip it: what would you even do with the answer? If I said yes, you'd be glued to that phone and the waiting would eat you alive. If I said no, you'd grieve the breakup twice over, once for them and once for the last of the hope. Neither serves you. What I know from a long life: people get through this when they stop treating their own doorbell as somebody else's to ring. You can't make them come back, but you can make sure you're not standing in the hall the whole time. Live loudly enough that you don't hear the phone. If they call, you'll know what to do when it rings. If they don't, you'll still be living. That's the only expectation worth keeping.