Page 130 of The Good Girl Effect

Taking a step back, he moves from my reach, and my hand falls back to my side. I wipe the tears falling across my cheeks as he stares sadly at me.

Finally, on an exhale, he turns and walks over to the Christmas tree. I watch in confusion as he leans down and picks up something from the pile.

With remorse on his face, he returns and hands it to me. “This is for you. Open it when you’re alone.”

Curiosity weighs heavily on me as I stare down at the rectangular box wrapped in red-and-white paper. He got me a gift?

This is all so strange and foreign. I have no idea how to behave, and I certainly didn’t get him a gift.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

With that, he turns away and walks up the stairs. I hug the box to my chest and squeeze my eyes closed to keep from sobbing right here in the kitchen.

Bea sobbed when I left this morning. I didn’t know anything could be as hard as walking away from her as she cried. It’s the first time we’ve been apart in nearly six months. And the moment I’m in the car on the way to the train station, it’s like my heart is being pulled back to the apartment in Montmartre.

Jack stood by her side looking despondent as I carried my small weekender to the door. I could see so many things on his lips that he wanted to say but didn’t.

During the entire ride, I’m filled with anxiety and indecision. Am I doing the right thing?

In my heart, I don’t want to leave, not even for two days. But I can’t keep doing this forever. I can’t stay in that apartment and waste my life away on the memories of a short love affair that didn’t work. I can’t keep playing the part of Bea’s mother forever.

So this is more than just a holiday away from them. It’s a chance for me to rethink my life and where it’s headed. It’s time I do as my father said I should and spread my wings and fly.

Of course, the only place my wings want to take me is back home to them.

The driver drops me off at Gare Saint-Lazare, and I climb out with my bag slung across my shoulder.

“Joyeux Noël,” I say to him before he closes my door. He returns the greeting with a polite smile.

Then I’m on my own. My train doesn’t leave for another forty-five minutes, so I find a café at the station that is still open. I buy myself a latte and a pastry and sit at a small table with my bags at my side.

The gift from Jack is calling my name. I should have left it in my room at the apartment, but I couldn’t resist. It’s the only gift I’ve received this year, and I’m too curious about what is inside to ignore it.

Pushing my food and drink aside, I pull the box out and set it on the table.

Just open it, I tell myself.

What am I so afraid of? That whatever is inside will be too heartfelt and thoughtful to ignore? That once I see what he’s bought for me, I’ll be reminded of how in love with him I am and have no choice but to go home?

Or perhaps the opposite. Maybe the gift is too plain and means nothing. Maybe it’s a candle or a pair of slippers and it only proves that I don’t mean as much to Jack as I thought I did.

Somehow, I just know that’s not the case. Curiosity is what got me into this mess. It’s only appropriate that I let it take me the rest of the way.

Twisting my lips, I begin unwrapping. Immediately, I recognize the pink-painted wood and the floral design on the edges.

Confused, I stare down at my jewelry box.

Why would Jack give me my own jewelry box?

Then I remember the day I bought one for Bea at the theme park. I had told Jack how my father would put gifts in it every year on my birthday. Did he really remember that?

And if so, what is inside?

Biting my bottom lip, I slowly open the lid.

When I spot the familiar beige paper of his stationery, I slam the box closed again.

It’s a letter.