It had been four months since you and Benjamin ended things. Four long months of space, silence, and the kind of aching that doesn’t always fade with time. You were trying to move forward—new friends, new habits, a new version of yourself. But Benjamin… he never quite let go.

The world still saw him as Benjamin Wadsworth: the golden boy, the rising star, the actor with the crooked smile and eyes that could carry a scene without a single word. But off-camera, in the quiet, there were pieces of him still tangled up in you.

During a televised interview—one of those glossy, late-night segments that always end with a personal twist—the host leaned in with a grin and asked, “Do you have an ex? And if so, have you moved on?”

He laughed softly, but there was no real humor in it. He glanced down for a moment, as if the answer might be written on his palms. Yes… and no, he said.

There was a pause. The crowd chuckled, the host moved on, but that answer clung to the air like perfume. It wasn’t just vague—it was honest. Raw. The kind of reply that told a story all on its own. And maybe that was the thing about Benjamin—he always told the truth, even when it hurt.