Sophia was the love of my life, but my affection literally made her sick.
For three agonizing years, every "I love you," every tender touch, brought on nausea, paleness, and a mad dash to the bathroom.
I tried everything-different cologne, a changed diet-but the only trigger was my unwavering love for her.
I was living in a special kind of hell, believing my love was her poison.
The final straw: our third anniversary. I planned a romantic evening, hoping things had changed.
But when I whispered, "I love you," she ran, violently retching in the bathroom.
Later that night, I overheard her tearfully tell her childhood friend: "His love is suffocating me. It' s a physical thing. It makes me sick."
My heart shattered; my affection was her torture.
I packed my bags, ready to leave, ready to finally free us both from this agony.