the signs I’ve been seeing—Chris Stapleton’s “You Should Probably Leave” on the radio, a white feather by the village store, a neighbor’s uncanny words—have been pushing me to face the truth. But to confirm my doubts, I did something I never thought I’d do: I turned to an astrologer to calculate our compatibility, to see if the stars could explain this mess.
I found her online, this woman with a calm voice and a knack for charts. I sent her our birth details, half-expecting some generic spiel, but what she said hit me like a lightning bolt. She told me Étienne is my karmic partner—someone I was meant to meet, to learn from, but not necessarily to stay with. She said our charts show a powerful connection, but it’s fraught with lessons, not love. Then she dropped the real bomb: he’s not good with money or women. His chart, she said, points to impulsiveness, a tendency to control, a struggle to build trust or stability. It was like she’d been eavesdropping on our life—his jealousy over my phone, his coldness when I reach for him, the way he lashed out over nothing, leaving me crying in my car. She said this relationship is teaching me to value myself, to set boundaries, but it’s not meant to last.
I sit here now, the candle from my angel meditations flickering, and it’s all coming together. The signs I’ve been asking for—the song, the feather, 11:11 on my phone—are screaming the same thing the astrologer saw: this isn’t my home. I moved here chasing Étienne’s smile, ignoring the red flags—his possessiveness, our lack of shared passions, his aggressive outbursts. I’ve been lonely, aching for connection in this tiny village, but the stars, the angels, my own heart—they’re all saying I deserve better. I gave up my job, my friends, my Winnipeg life for a man who doesn’t see me, who the stars say might never. I’m 45, and starting over terrifies me, but staying in this cycle of hurt scares me more. I’m whispering to the universe now, asking for one last sign, for the strength to pack my bags and choose myself. Because if Étienne’s my karmic lesson, I’ve learned it: I’m worth more than this.