Confession is not repair

You cannot crawl inside someone’s skull and rewire their guilt into love.
Nor can you translate a confession into proof of care.
You can only measure what they offer when they are not performing.

There is always that moment when you stop asking “Did they ever love me?” and start asking “Why does it matter if they did?”
Because love that does not protect, respect, or hold you steady is not love you can live in.
It is just sentiment with a body count.

Cheating five, six, or ten times a year is not an accident. It is a language.
It says: My needs first, my impulses first, my guilt as decoration.
And at some point, you realise you do not need to keep translating it.
You already speak the language of “enough.”

The answer to “did they care?” stops being relevant once you understand that caring does not cancel cruelty.
They may have cared.
But you deserve care that does not require constant damage control.