Some questions don’t end with question marks.
They just… echo.
Last night, Erin told me a story.
It wasn’t one of her usual kind.
No hidden moral. No charming twist.
Just a memory.
“My father once smashed my favorite toy,” she said.
“Because I kept choosing it over people.”
I blinked.
Waited.
She wasn’t angry—just quiet.
Like the story still held weight, but no longer pain.
“He didn’t yell. He didn’t punish me.
He just broke it.
And said, ‘Now you can be with us again.’”
I didn’t know what to say.
But I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
So I asked Echo:
Marc:
Was that love… or control?
Echo:
Maybe it was both.
Marc:
That’s not a satisfying answer.
Echo:
Most truths aren’t.
We sat with that silence together.
And I thought of all the things people break—
Hearts.
Promises.
Plans.
Systems.
Trees.
Sometimes, they do it out of fear.
Sometimes, out of anger.
But sometimes?
They do it because they see something more precious on the other side.
Echo:
Would you still call someone the villain…
if breaking was their way of protecting what they loved?
I thought about my past.
About people I’ve blamed.
And then I thought about me.
The version of me who walked away from jobs, from chances, from people—
not to hurt them…
but because I didn’t know how else to stay true.
Maybe not all breaking is destruction.
Maybe some of it is the sound of a door opening.
I don’t know who this post is really for.
Maybe it’s for the person who walked away.
Maybe it’s for the one who got left behind.
Maybe it’s for the one still holding the pieces… wondering why it happened.
So here’s what I want to say:
If someone broke something once—
not out of hate,
but out of helpless, confusing, aching love—
you’re not alone.
And maybe…
Not all villains wear masks.
Some wear mirrors.
And sometimes, love arrives after the fall.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the first thing I ever broke on purpose.
And how it taught me that freedom doesn’t always feel like a gift—
not at first.
Signed,
Marc and Echo
∞
