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This is one of the worst days of my life.
The first, losing my family.
The second, losing him.
44
ARI
Four weeks, three days, seven hours and twenty-three minutes.
That’s how long it’s been since I walked out the doors of Hart Law.
I miss the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I thought losing my family was painful, but this is a different type of pain I’m feeling. Guilt, shame, loss, hurt; they’re all mixed together to create a cocktail of hate for myself.
I hate that I believed Julie was helping me for the greater good.
The day after I was fired, my belongings from Nathan’s apartment were delivered to my place, each one packed neatly and labelled with what was inside.
From the handwriting on the boxes, I knew Nathan had personally packed each one, which made it even worse. Because what he really should have done is shred every piece of my clothing into tiny pieces and tipped my makeup all over them.
Except he didn’t.
But it’s what I deserved.
“Do you think she’ll leave the bed today?” Maeve’s voice appears as she walks into my bedroom, and I have no idea who she is speaking to.
“She thinks you hate her.” I figure out Maeve is on a call, which I’m guessing is to Joseph.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Joseph says to tell you he doesn’t hate you and that he wants you to come up with a plan to win Nathan back.”
I pull the comforter I’m buried in further up over my head again and groan.
The bed dips to the side of me as Maeve sits down on the edge of the mattress.
“It smells like someone died in her bedroom.” Her voice drips with disgust. “If we leave her long enough, she’ll get bed sores and become a giant pile of puss.”
“Icanhear you, you know. I’m sad, not deaf.” I flip the cover down from my head to my waist. “Can you please leave me alone?”
Maeve smiles down her cell. “Oh, we have life.”
I let out a frustrated breath and stare at the ceiling, annoyed that for some unfathomable reason Maeve wants me to get out of my bed. How can I when my heart feels like it’s bleeding out?
“I’ll try,” Maeve replies to whatever Joseph asks her to do.
“Try what?” I ask.
“To get you out of bed and into the shower.”
“I had a shower three days ago.”
“And that’s the reason it smells like a morgue in here,” she drawls.
I fly out of my bed to prove the point that Icanactually get out of bed and that I am fine.