Can’t think.
“Bring the fucking ring back,” he growls.
The door slams, and my legs buckle.
I crumple to the floor, head bowed, the thin fabric of my dress bunched in my hands.
The sting on my cheek is nothing compared to the ruin inside my chest.I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.
Broken.
Crushed.
Lost.
The carpet scratches my knees.
This hallway, this apartment, this life…
It’s all been a lie.
A carefully constructed illusion.A trap.And I, the naïve fool, fell for it completely.
I close my eyes.Tears come in a hot torrent.A sob escapes, a ragged sound that echoes in the empty hallway.
There is no escape.
I have to face it.
But how?
How do you start over when the foundation is demolished?
Dizziness rolls over me.I lean forward, palms flat against the ground, head spinning.
I take a deep breath.
I have to find that ring.
Not for him.
For my café.
For my future.
For me.
With a shaky breath, I push off the floor.My legs tremble as I straighten my dress, wipe the tears, and stand.
I may be broken.But I’m not done.
I will find that ring.
THREE
THE CAB’S VINYL seat sticks to my thighs.Each block is an agonizing countdown.Streetlights blur past, hazy orange halos against the inky sky.The window reflects a ghost: eyes wide and haunted, jaw clenched until my teeth ache.The driver shoots curious glances in the rearview mirror.Shame burns hot in my cheeks.The weight of the night churns with the nausea in my stomach.
“Stop here, please.”
