She’d been instructed to “set boundaries.”
It had taken her three more sessions to say what she really wanted:
“I want him out of my life.”
And five more to do it.
Now here she was.Successful.Independent.Untethered.A life unshared, uncomplicated, hers.No regrets.
And yet…
The phone lit up again, persistent as a mosquito.
She swallowed a groan.“Jesus.”
But this time she tapped to take the call.She didn’t know why.Maybe the wine.Maybe the hour.Maybe some soft, traitorous part of her that hadn’t quite died.
Maybe she’d just do anything to stop the damn calls.
A woman’s voice.Quiet.Apologetic.
“Ms.Hayes, I’m sorry to bother you again.I think you should come in.Your father… he’s declining more quickly now.”
A pause.
“He said your name.”
Jen’s throat tightened — a constriction, not an emotion.
She ended the call and pushed the phone away as though it had become radioactive.
“No,” she whispered.“Not tonight.”
She stood, stretched, and padded toward the balcony, sliding the glass door open.Warm air swept in, scented faintly with river water and pavement cooling after the day’s heat.Across the skyline, the Prudential tower blinked a red dot into the humid dark.
She inhaled.
Held it.
Exhaled.
She repeated the breath until the feeling drained out.
She was good at that.
She was proud of that.
She had no regrets.
Back inside, the apartment felt cooler — maybe because she had stepped away from everything, maybe because she was beginning to feel the lateness now.
A knock sounded at the door.
She didn’t react at first.Not consciously.Her mind was still half on the voicemail, half on the contract, half on the creeping sensation that she needed sleep more than she needed to prove anything to the CEO of Van der Meer Holdings.
The knock came again.
A little louder.
