Features
Everything for the minute before you send
Hearthkeep is small on purpose. Each part exists for one moment in a breakup — and does that one thing gently.
The streak
A hearth that grows with you
Every day of no contact feeds a small flame — from a first ember to a radiant fire at day 180. It isn't a scoreboard. It's warmth you don't want to let go cold, and a quiet subtitle that remembers how many times you chose peace.
Rescue
When the urge is back
One tap opens a calm, dark space: a slow breathing ring, the reason for leaving you pinned for exactly this moment, and two soft ways out — write it instead, or simply stay until the minute passes. Every urge you close is counted, so you can see they really do pass.
Write, don't send
Say it all. Send none of it.
A private page for everything you rehearse at 2am. Keep the letter in a quiet archive, or burn it and watch it go. It is never sent, never uploaded, never seen — the release is the point, not the reply.
Reasons
Why you left, in your own words
On a clear day, write down the red flags, the patterns, the moments of clarity. Pin the one that matters most. On the hard nights, it's the first thing the rescue flow shows you — your own voice, reminding you.
Journal & check-ins
A record of your own days
A dated journal and a twenty-second nightly check-in, in plain words — no clinical sliders, no forced smiley faces. Over time, the moods form a gentle map of your weeks, so you can see the shape of getting better.
Progress
Proof, for the days you doubt it
Milestones at 7, 30, 90 days and beyond, marked by a single quiet celebration. And if you slip, the streak resets without shame — your longest run and everything you wrote are kept. Beginning again is part of it.