Kyle just asked for feet pics.

No preamble. No warm-up. Just $5 for bare feet.

Like he was ordering takeout.

You know your feet are worth more than that. You don't even take off your shoes for less than $20.

You stare at the screen for a second too long, as if it might morph into something more respectful if you blink hard enough. It doesn’t. It’s still just Kyle. Still just "here’s $5 for a pic of those feet."

You feel your soul try to leave your body through your hairline.

You block him immediately. Victory. Boundaries. Growth.

You toss your phone to the side like it’s infected. You are done with this. You are so done with all of it. Men. Apps. Lower leg objectification. You’re on a higher plane now — a new chapter.

You even say it out loud to the empty room:

“I deserve more.”

Then… silence. The kind that makes you suddenly aware of how long it’s been since anyone touched you without asking for something.

You lie back on the bed, surrounded by yesterday’s clothes, unopened mail, and a bra you bought hoping someone would see it.

You blocked him. You did the right thing. So why does it feel less like empowerment and more like… nothing?