I’ve seen things. Things that would make a couch blush.

I’m her recliner — her throne, her dinner table, her safe place.

She found me on Facebook Marketplace, practically brand new, and only $200. My last owners rarely used me. They were lovey-dovey newlyweds who preferred to snuggle up on the couch for…reasons.

Since then, we’ve been through it all. Long nights of Family Guy, Bob’s Burgers, and the various comfort cartoons that make her feel safe and content.

Her cats adore me, too — three of them, all with strong opinions about which blanket belongs to who. Sometimes, they watch her cry over the news. Sometimes they just snore in sync while she talks herself in and out of “fixing him.”

We all know how that story goes. Don’t kid yourself. She does, too. Still, she finds the best in people, even if it requires serious digging.

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My right arm leans a little now. That’s where she rests her phone, her vape, and her heart. My cushions smell like cheap body spray, Taco Bell, and a woman who doesn’t know her value.

But I’ve seen her light up, too. That little smile she gets when a text gives her butterflies. The way she sits up straighter when she feels a glimmer of hope creeping in. She still believes in love. She knows he’s out there, and he’ll want her — cats, recliner, and all.

And maybe one day, he will show up. Not in a lifted truck or a fancy hotrod, but with a recliner of his own — one that just like me, squeaks when you lean to the left. One that’s also seen its share of heartbreak and lonesome TV dinners. Maybe they’ll put us side by side in a cozy living room on the edge of town.

Maybe one day, they’ll even buy a couch. Until then, I’ll be here — holding her up, keeping her company through every rerun, every midnight thought spiral, and every brand-new beginning she swears she’s not getting her hopes up for.

Because I’m not just furniture; I’m a front-row seat to the comeback story. She just doesn’t know it yet.

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