It took me years to grow a spine, and then I built my career on it.
“What part? Did you reach out all these years, and I missed it? Did you need my address?” I pick up a stack of junk mail and launch it across the room. A rare flourish that I don’t usually partake in during court.
“I never wanted things to happen the way that they did. I never stopped thinking about you.”
“Wow, means a whole lot now.” I roll my eyes, and he grindshis teeth together.
“I lost everything,” he grits out.
“I lost you!” I grasp my door frame to keep from slamming it and take a deep breath. “Youabandonedme.That wasyourchoice.”
I don’t look as I shut him away. Shutting him out like he did to me. Eleven years, three months, and six days ago.
* * *
Glinting sunlight streams through the bottom crack of my blinds, shining directly on my face as it does every morning.
Despite averaging five hours of sleep a night, waking up to the natural light helps rouse me without setting off my nervous system like a normal alarm would.
Today, I feel hungover, and I didn’t have any alcohol last night.
I take my time twisting my hair into a claw clip and washing my face, and I only leave the safety of my bedroom after I’ve tightened my robe around my waist for the fifth time.
My living room is silent and empty. The blanket and pillow are stacked neatly on the end of the couch. My shoes are placed upright beside the door, and the junk mail I threw across the room is back with the other envelopes on my counter.
He isn’t here.
The deep pit of grief in my stomach simmers with anger. Of course, he left.
It isn’t until I walk into the kitchen to see my teapotpercolating on the stove that I take pause, and the anger turns solemn. He started my tea?
Maybe I’m being unreasonable, but I can’t let myself forget, even though it’d be so much easier that way. All the years of sadness can’t be erased.
I sigh, ignoring the tea, and reaching for the back door instead, but it’s already unlocked. I swing it open, staring at the closed screen door in front of me. That means…
“Good morning,” the low timber of voice glides over my shoulders as I step outside. He’s sitting at my little metal outdoor bistro set that came with the cottage. Its aged flower design matches perfectly with the cottage aesthetic and the cobblestone back patio.
“I thought you left.”
He sips out of his own mug, ignoring my statement. “I was surprised to find tea in your cabinets.”
“I could never stand the taste of coffee. Started tea in college.”
“Much to your reluctance,” he guesses.
“My mom was off her rocker with her beliefs, but I’ve come to understand some of her choices as an adult,” I admit.
He looks at me thoughtfully, urging me to continue.
“Nature is important for the soul. I like being barefoot when I can. I do yoga every day, and I hate food dyes.” I shrug. “But I believe in modern medicine, and don’t want to think about all the chemicals in my nail polish or shampoo.”
“And, do the dream catchers still keep the nightmares away?”
“Sometimes.”
Chapter Eight
Hayes
