I hadn’t heard those exact words before.
Not together.
But... I’d heard versions.
You’d be prettier if you lost weight.
You have such a pretty face.
You’re lucky I like bigger girls.
You should be grateful.
Bruce.
My mom.
High school.
Random strangers.
A thousand tiny cuts over thirty-six years.
And now they were sprayed across the business I’d fought for.
My eyes burned. “No.” The word came out tiny.
I climbed out of the car and walked closer. Like maybe I was wrong. Maybe somebody was filming a movie. Maybe this wasn’t my shop.
Maybe…
My knees wobbled and I realized it was real.
The white paint dripped down the glass and covered the mint-green trim. Covered the place I’d poured every ounce of myself into.
I wrapped my arms around my stomach.
Suddenly cold.
Suddenly eight years old and overhearing my aunt tell my mom I’d never find a husband looking like this. Suddenly twenty-two and listening to Bruce joke about putting me on a diet.
My phone buzzed in my purse and I jumped.
My hands shook as I dug out my phone. Rome. Morning, babe. Coffee run?
A sob caught in my throat because suddenly I wanted him. Wanted him here. Wanted him to tell me this wasn’t true.
I hit call and he answered immediately. “Morning.”
His voice was rough and sleepy.
I sucked in a shaky breath. “Rome.”
Instantly. “What’s wrong?”
The tears I’d been fighting spilled over.
“I...”
