They keep saying they want a good man, a good woman, real love, something solid, something grown. I hear it every day. Loud declarations. Burned-sage speeches. Therapy vocabulary with expensive shoes on. “I’m done with chaos.” “I’m done with games.” “I’m protecting my peace now.” Then peace walks in wearing regular clothes. No orchestra. No stomach seizure. No three-hour delay on a text designed to make abandonment issues stretch their legs. No mystery package of mixed signals tied with a red ribbon. No emotional car crash mistaken for chemistry.