I don’t know what I expected. It didn’t bring tears to my eyes, no dramatic breakdown, no ugly sobbing but something inside me settles.
Not peace, but… validation.
I’mnotoverreacting.
And suddenly, a thought hits me so hard I actually sink deeper into the couch.
Is this what Patrick felt?
Is this the reason he got drunk?
Is this why he spiraled, because he felt stupid and hurt and insecure and totally invalidated?
When I thought he was screwing around back when we were dating, I got angry. Then I got even.
In a way… so did he.
Can I really be furious at him for reacting the exact same way I once did?
Yes.
Yes, I can. Just like he can be furious at me for what I did.
God, this is a mess. A total, emotional catch-22. He did what he did because I did what I did, back when I thought he was doing the same thing. The only difference is thathismistake happened after we promised to forsake all others.
I guess that doesn’t make the hurt any less, especially when I refused to take accountability.
I should probably think about that.
Right after I take this little nap.
Patrick
I don’t get the time to read Lore’s letter.
It’s one thing after another today, two active missing persons, only one team, half my detectives running on fumes. I’m forced to split the cases, take one myself, shove the other at Barry. It’s chaos. No breaks, no food, barely any water. By the time the dust settles, we’re already hours past shift-end and the sun’s long gone.
I don’t get home until well after midnight.
Pulling into the driveway, I’m not surprised to see the porch light’s still on. It’s always on for one of us, even when we’re pissed.
I sit there for a second in the quiet, staring at the glow from the bulb. My hand reaches for the letter in my jacket pocket… then freezes.
Not tonight. Not like this. My head’s not even close to clear.
Whatever Lore wrote deserves more than the scraps of whatever’s left of me right now.
Later,I tell myself as I get out of the car.
Inside the kitchen, I find a plate covered in foil. I uncover it, mashed potatoes, chicken, veggies. A full dinner. Lore always cooks like this on her days off. I don’t bother heating it; I shovel it down while I still have an appetite.
Tomorrow I’ll have to face the brass and the public and defend my actions of today. But right now, all I want is sleep.
I grab a bottle of water and head upstairs toward the guest room, might as well call itmyroom now.
I crack Milo’s door open. He’s sideways on the bed, but at least he’s on the mattress this time. I know better than to move him. Closing the door quietly, I walk past our bedroom.
The door’s open. Peering in, I notice the bed is empty. I pause, waiting for Lore to come out of the bathroom.
