Nobody warns you that the person you love might be a soul-contract assassin. You’re here because a relationship ended, and the pain is a physical presence. It’s a hollow ache in your chest, a knot of dread in your stomach that tightens whenever you remember they’re gone. You check your phone compulsively, a reflex of hope and despair, knowing no message will be there. You replay conversations, dissecting every word, every silence, searching for the exact moment it all went wrong. Your friends offer platitudes: “You’ll get over it,” “There are other fish in the sea,” “Everything happens for a reason.” But their well-meaning words feel like ashes in your mouth. They don’t understand the sheer, visceral reality of the amputation you’re experiencing. A part of you has been carved out, and you’re left bleeding on the floor of your life, wondering if you’ll ever be whole again. You’re haunted by the ghost of a future that will never be. The trips you planned, the home you imagined, the children you might have had—it’s all turned to smoke. And in the quiet, lonely hours of the night, a single, devastating question echoes in the chambers of your heart: Why? Why