At fourteen years old, I loved him. Hard. So hard it hurt. I loved him, but love isn’t what it was. It was a game, a lie. And I would never be the same. I fell in love with a liar, and when the truth was uncovered, he left my heart shattered and never looked back. So I didn’t either. I moved on, went to college, and I lived my life without him, pushing thoughts of him away whenever they tried to break through the bubble I had created for myself. I was twenty-four when he came back into my life, a month before I was set to marry someone else, someone who had pieced together the broken parts he had left behind. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet with him, but I did. I had to. My heart broke all over again. My head and heart were officially at war. I had a choice to make, and it should have been easy, but it wasn’t. Because whatever choice I made, head or heart, I knew it would break me.