Colt knew I was cooking for him. He knew I was planning something special. And he can’t even call me back?
The silence is deafening.
The disappointment iscrushing.
I stare at the table I spent hours preparing—candles, wine, chocolates, his favorite meal—and suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. My skin buzzes with frustration, and it boils over.
With a scream, I grab my plate and hurl it at the wall. The sound of it shattering is oddly satisfying. I don’t stop. I wipe everything off the table—the dinner, the candles, the chocolates. They crash to the floor, pieces flying in all directions. I’m breathing heavily now, trembling with rage as I grab the tablecloth and yank it, trying to tear it in half.
It doesn’t rip.
Fuck!I growl in frustration and snatch a knife from the floor. With one sharp slice, I split the fabric down the middle and tossthe knife across the room. The tablecloth falls to the floor in a heap, like my emotions, shredded and discarded.
Then the tears come.
I drop to the floor, my knees giving way, and land hard on a shard of broken china. A sharp pain cuts into my thigh, but I barely register it. The ache in my chest eclipses everything else.
Sobbing, I sit here, surrounded by the chaos I created. I stare blankly at the mess like it’s a metaphor for my life—a series of beautiful things ruined.
This is what I’ve become.
An undeniable disaster.
I rest my forehead against the table and try to focus on breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Slow. Steady.
Princess trots in, sniffing the chaos with curiosity. My gaze darts to the chocolates scattered on the floor.
Shit.
I force myself to stand, swiping at my face with the back of my hands, before I scoop up the chocolates and toss them out of reach on the counter. Then I watch numbly as Princess eats the rest of the food. Might as well let someone enjoy it.
I grab my phone and shuffle upstairs.
One last night.
That’s all I can manage.
Still in heels and lingerie, I collapse onto the bed. I don’t have the strength to change. I curl into the fetal position, the clock reading seven forty-five. I roll away from it. I can’t bear to watch the minutes pass while I wait for a man who might never walk through that door again.
I know he’s withher.
That thought is what kills me.
I cry harder than I have in years. There’s no filter left. No strength to hold anything back. This time, it’s real.We’re over.I feel it in every breath, every tear. Unlike before, there’s no glimmer of hope to hold onto. No thread left to cling to.
I check my phone. Again. Still nothing.
I’ve tried calling four more times. Voicemail, every time.
I thought about calling Macy and giving her a piece of my mind, but what would be the point? If Colt wants to be with her, I won’t grovel. I won’t beg.
Let him be happy with her and Caleb. Let them be a family. I’ll bow out gracefully.
I’m still crying when I hear Princess bark.
I don’t move.
Footsteps thunder downstairs, then slam up the stairs, loud and fast.
