“What my idiot husband means is have you thought this through? Are you sure this is what you really want?”
“It’s what I need.”
“I get it.” I loved that Hannah got it. She might not have agreed with what I was saying, but she’d always have my back.
We’d met when she’d joined Mount Sinai as the speech pathologist. It had taken a whole lot of cajoling and a fair bit of bribery, but I managed to pry her from her shell and we’d become fast friends. Our trio, Hannah, Rosie, and me had caused chaos, at least we’d tried to but then Hannah had let Mason Fynn catch her, and our trio was down to two. Then Todd arrived on the scene, upending my world and I became so focused on his wants and his needs I’d lost sight of my own, so I guess I only had myself to blame.
Then there was Rosie. She’d been the wild one. The one who suggested the wild nights out. We’d gone skydiving—never again. Spent a weekend at a cabin in the middle of nowhere with no electricity and no running water—not my thing. And one insane weekend trying to drink our way through the cocktail recipe book only to spend the next two days regretting that decision. Now she was living in Seattle, talking about ferry boats, and working in one of the most advanced hospitals in America, having the time of her life.
It took a month for me to find a new place and get my life together enough to move after buying all new furniture, furniture I loved. Instead of buying the perfect gaming couch in faux black leather, I bought the beige suede couch with chaise, and a mountain of teal and cream cushions.
“So, you’re all in?” Hannah asked as she dropped into the couch and propped her swollen ankles up on the end of the sofa.
“Yep,” I replied, wiping my hands on my dirty yoga pants.
I was sweaty and smelly, and I was sure I could probably sleep for a week. It was hard to believe that yesterday afternoon I picked up the keys, and twenty-four hours later the only thing missing was a fridge full of food, but that was tomorrow's problem.
“You’re going to be amazing, Charlotte.”
“And you’re going to be an awesome mom, Hannah. That little munchkin in there is going to be one very lucky little girl,” I assured her.
“I just wish she’d hurry up and get here already.”
“Ready to meet her?”
“Yeah, that too,” she grumbled as she tried to sit up.
Two hours and a couple of pizzas later, Mason took his wife home with the promise of a foot rub leaving me sitting smack bang in the middle of my new life. A life I’d never expected and one I hadn’t been searching for but now it was here, I wasn’t afraid. It felt right. Somewhere along the way I’d realized Todd wasn’t the right man for me.
The next morning I was back at work, pushing past the aching muscles and ready to get on with it. Sure, I’d shed a few tears, drunk more than my fair share of wine, and even taken up boxercise, but Charlotte Rowe was back. Bigger and better than ever.
“You look so pretty,” Isabelle complimented as she ran a brush through my hair, and I tried not to wince.
“Thank you so much. You’re very good at this,” I told her. “Are you going to be a hairdresser when you grow up?”
“No.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope. I’m going to be a doctor,” she announced proudly and I could see the smile creep across her mom’s face while she sat quietly in the corner pretending to read her book but I was on to her. More than once I’d seen her pick up her phone and snap a few pictures.
“A doctor. That’s cool. Why do you want to be a doctor?”
I felt a clip or a pin dig into the back of my skull and reached up to touch it only to have my fingers battered away.
“Be gentle, Izzy,” her mom cautioned.
“I’m going to be a doctor and fix all the broken animals.”
“Sweetheart, I think you mean vet. Vets fix animals and doctors fix people,” her mom reminded her patiently.
“I think you’ll make a great vet,” I confirmed while secretly hoping she was a lot gentler with them than she was with me, because right now, I was sure I was going to have a bald patch on the side of my head.
Isabelle was a nine-year-old girl who’d developed Ewing sarcoma. But she was a warrior, and after months of harsh treatments and long, painful nights, she was winning this war.
“There! You’re all ready for the ball!”
“The ball?” I asked, confused.
