Sable Monroe

 

I was always in the passenger seat, watching the world blur past while he drove.

He lasted about six months.

At sixteen going on seventeen, that felt like something serious. Like something that meant everything.

 

But if I’m being honest…

 

He wasn’t the love of my life.

He was the first version of escape that came with wheels.

 

I was turning 17 when I met him. He was in college. My mother knew about him, and she approved. In her mind, the age gap wasn’t a red flag. It mirrored what she had experienced with my father, so it felt normal to her.

 

And he checked the boxes she cared about.

 

He was in school.

He had direction.

And most importantly…

 

He had a car.

 

And that car?

 

That changed everything for me.

 

Because for the first time, I wasn’t stuck.

 

We could go places.

The beach.

The park.

Fast food runs that felt like luxury because they weren’t happening inside chaos.

 

We were mobile.

 

And when you grow up feeling trapped, mobility doesn’t just feel convenient.

 

It feels like freedom.

 

—

 

But the relationship itself?

 

It wasn’t what I thought it was.

 

It was only monogamous on my end.

 

He was a player. Not aggressively so, but enough that I always felt slightly off balance.

 

And I was young.

 

I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that he didn’t love me.

 

But I stayed anyway.

 

Because he gave me something I didn’t have.

 

Not love.

 

Not stability.

 

But something that looked close enough:

 

Normalcy.

 

Or at least… a version of it I could borrow.

 

—

 

He would come over sometimes, and somehow…

 

He always missed the worst parts.

 

The chaos.

The arguments.

The moments that made my home feel unsafe.

 

He met my mother.

He met my stepfather.

He knew my brother.

 

But he never really saw what was happening.

 

And if I’m honest…

 

I made sure of that.

 

Not because I was trying to deceive him.

 

But because I was trying to protect something for myself.

 

A small pocket of life that didn’t feel heavy.

 

Even if it wasn’t fully real.

 

—

 

Eventually, I found out he was cheating.

 

And that was the end of it.

 

When he tried to come back, I said no.

 

Because by then, I had already started moving on.

 

I had started dating my children’s father.

 

—

 

Looking back now, I can see it clearly.

 

That relationship was never about love.

 

It was about access.

 

Access to movement.

Access to escape.

Access to a version of life that felt different from the one I was living.

 

—

 

Sometimes, when you’re young and trying to survive, you don’t choose people because they’re right for you.

 

You choose them because they give you something you need.

 

Even if it’s temporary.

 

Even if it’s incomplete.

 

Even if, deep down…

 

you already know it won’t last.

 

—

 

If any part of this resonates with you, you’re not alone.

 

You don’t have to share anything you’re not ready to, but if you want to…

I’d love to hear what “escape” looked like for you at that age.