I groan, flopping down in my chair because I know she’s not. I’ve been working with Rachel for two years. She’s fucking delightful—a backstabbing, homewrecking, delightfulbitch.
Grabbing my purse from the bottom drawer, I shove the pictures scattered across my desk into it. It’s strange, foryears, this place has been my second home. Now, I’m an outcast.
When I’m done, the only thing left is our wedding picture sitting atop the otherwise empty surface. I zip up my purse and stand, roll my shoulders, and lift my chin.One foot in front of the other. I can do this.
My skin crawls as eyes track my departure, but I don’t falter.
I can’t tell if they’re staring at me out of pity or curiosity. It doesn’t matter; I’d rather they mind their own business. But that’s not how this works.
If they didn’t know, they do now. Gossip about how he chose a prettier woman over his wife and child will twist and wind through the office for the next few days, and eventually it’ll be like I was never here.
It will be him and her.
One day, no one will remember that I was here first.
When I make it to the elevator, I keep my head held high and my shoulders straight.
If I could fall to the floor and cry, I would. But the last thing I need is for the busy bodies to be talking about how I was dumped, then had a meltdown in front of the whole damn building. Instead, I’m determined to get to the car first.
That, however, feels like quite a feat.
It’s not the hurt—I can handle that. It’s the upending of my life. It’s the complete destruction of the vision I had for my future—for Maggie’s future. We’ll still be her parents, but she’ll be shuffled back and forth, changing her reality. Her dreams will change. Everything will change. That’s what feels unbearable.
Having your dreams ripped out of your hands is like having someone dump you in the middle of the desert.That walk back to civilization sucks. It’s hard and lonely. It causes your feet to ache and your mind to wander through everything you could have done differently. And when an occasional man on a Harley rides by, you get your hopes up that someone’s come for you. But they never stop.
You just keep walking.
It’s not until you finally make it back and have that first sip of water that you begin to see a new life.
Casey was my sip of water last time.
I don’t know if I have another long walk in me. The gut-wrenching, toe-curling pain when the person you love no longer wants you is something I never expected to feel again.
I suck air into my lungs in sharp breaths, trying my hardest to gain some semblance of composure before the elevator finishes its descent.
Of course, it’s the shortest elevator ride of my life. The doors couldn’t have just given me a few more moments. Although there probably aren’t enough minutes in a week to make me okay at this point.
What I need is a glass of wine and maybe a good tantrum.
Stepping off the elevator, I race down the hall. At least the people on this floor don’t have any idea what’s going on upstairs at Jamesview Sound. For all they know, I’m just in a hurry.
Flinging the glass doors open, I rush into the warm North Carolina sun. Normally, I love Raleigh in March—cool mornings and sunny afternoons.
But today it doesn’t matter what the temperature is because I’m on fire.
I can’t seem to get away fast enough. I’m not sure why,considering my options are this office and the house I no longer have any desire to call mine.
I meant it when I said, “I do.” I figured he’d meant it, too.
Silly me.
Men don’t mean anything they say. They choose themselves. Those are facts that I know to be true.
Finally reaching my stuffy black Escalade, I rip open the door and climb inside.
It was a birthday gift from Casey when we first got married. He thought it was an upgrade from my beat-up red Jeep. I never said anything because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I loved my Jeep. Letting her go broke my heart.
My head falls back against the leather, and I suck in a deep breath. My chest rises and falls in rapid heaves. My palms sting from clenching my fists so tight my nails dig into the flesh.
