She thought she had found a good man. He was consistent. He texted her every morning. He made plans and kept them. He was physically present, emotionally even, never angry, never cruel. But slowly, over months, she began to feel a strange kind of loneliness that she could not name. He was there, but he was not there. When she talked about her fears, he nodded and changed the subject. When she cried, he handed her a tissue and waited for it to be over. When she asked him what he was feeling, he said he was fine, always fine, and the conversation stopped at the wall of that word. She was not being loved badly. She was not being loved at all. She was being managed by a man who had no access to his own heart, and therefore no access to hers.