Crushing the photo beneath my foot doesn’t give me the release I hoped it would. At least it’s hidden now. It can’t mock me and my bare stomach anymore.
God, I feel foolish. Empty.
Air doesn’t flow freely into my lungs. The pressure against my ribs is the result of years of pain, all of it bearing down at once.
After the first sob finally tears out of me, more follow. I cover my face, weeping into my hands.
Any other girl wouldn’t have agreed to this, any of this. She’d have a backbone. She would’ve straightened her spine ten years ago and moved on.
That girl would’ve been smart. Wouldn’t have believed in silly ideas like fairytales and soulmates.
Apparently, I’m neither strong nor smart.
“Stupid.” I keep crying. My hands are soaked. My shoulders shake. “Pathetic idiot?—”
A knock on the door silences me. “Miss Montgomery.”
Mary.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that it isn’t Duncan.
No time to think about it, because there she is, slipping inside. On one hand, she balances a silver tray. Between her free arm and her body, she clutches a black box.
Herbert is out in the hallway, closing the door behind her without looking at me.
“Your breakfast.” She rounds me, careful to step over the few shredded photos that slipped free during cleanup, before placing the tray on the dresser, as she did yesterday. “And a box. Tonight’s outfit.”
I should be offended by how she ignores my sobs. I don’t. Her job is to deliver packages and my meals, not to wonder why I’m crying.
And she is compassionate, in her own way. I’m grateful for that.
While Mary pours coffee from a French press into a porcelain mug, I notice her attention flick toward the pile by the bathroom.
“Please don’t clean up after me,” I say, guilt churning in my stomach. “If I could have a trash bag to pick it up, I’d get to clearing this mess.”
“All right, Miss Montgomery.”
“Thank you.”
With that, I head to the bathroom and close the door behind me.
Shower first. Brushing my teeth and hair comes later.
By the time I wrap myself in a robe, I feel more like myself. Better, even.
With a small smile on my face, I step out and into the room, fully expecting to be alone. After all, I proved myself to Mary and Duncan yesterday by not ignoring his damn box.
“Ah, you’re back,” Mary greets.
“Jesus, you scared me.” My heart’s racing as I turn to find her standing by the dresser. Why does this place never let me relax? “Is everything okay? What are you still doing here?” Just as fast, my eyes sweep across the now clean floor, my heart twitching. “Mary, you shouldn’t have.”
“It was nothing.” She gives a sweet, dismissive wave. “I stayed because I wanted to see if there’s anything you’d like changed with your meals. Making you comfortable here is important, and I figured food was a good place to start.”
I’m speechless, and with good reason. The last time anyone asked me what I wanted was years ago.
Duncan did, a few weeks before he vanished into thin air.
It was late at night, and he was sitting on one of the living room sofas. Something low was playing on the television.
