Chapter 8

THEA

Hours pass painstakingly slowly. After twenty-eight minutes of emotional breakdown, I reapply my makeup like that's all it takes to fix me, my hands steadying just enough to stop the mascara from smearing.

Nora didn’t come to my office. Nor did I receive a sack letter in my mail or through a messenger.

But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on borrowed time. My pulse races, and the silence feels heavier than it should. Was it only because I skipped a day? Something I said? Maybe I’ve already messed up.

I glance at myself in the mirror, wondering why the woman staring back at me still feels so… small.

Maybe Ezra embarrassed me because he sees what Sebastian sees in me—the flawed woman hiding beneath pristine suits. The woman who couldn't keep a home, couldn't hold a family together. How can I possibly keep a job?

God, is this the end? Am I just another overconfident woman pretending like I have it all together?

I inhale sharply and force myself to swallow the insecurities. I pick up the papers on my desk, my hands shaking.

What if I really am the problem?

But still, I bury myself in work. That's always been the answer, hasn't it? The numbers don't judge. The emails don't scream. The deadline doesn't leave.

And somewhere between one task and the next, time starts to move faster. The minutes stop dragging. I feel almost okay.

Almost.

When I'm done, I don't leave. Because I cried again and my makeup didn't survive the second round. And I don't have the strength to pretend anymore.

So I sit. And wait. And listen.

The sound proof in each office on this floor didn't give me the privilege I enjoy in my old office — the ability to hear drawers slam shut, to hear footsteps fading.

So again, I wait. I wait until an hour and thirty minutes after closing time. Then, I stand and grab my car key.

Not because I'm ready.

But because there's almost no one left to see the horrendous map my tears had drawn on my face.

When I get back to the hotel and shut the door behind me, the little calm I'd found at work fades into nothing.

The silence is too loud again. There are no emails waiting to be cleared, no task left to drown in. Just me and the ache I've been ignoring all day.

I drop my bag on the bed and walk to the mirror like I always do before I start popping the buttons on my suit jacket. I shrug off every bit of clothing until I'm naked.

Bad choice.

My reflection stares back at me in the mirror, my eyes catching the faint scar on my stomach. The one I got the night Finn came into this world. I press my fingers against it and for a second, I feel like the twenty-two year old lady on the hospital bed again — terrified, exhausted, in love.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply before my eyes snap open.

Puffy eyes. Smudged make-up. Eyes like Finn's.

Then there's the mole on my collarbone. The one Sebastian used to kiss anytime he sees me naked, like it means something. He said it made me look beautiful. Now, just looking at it makes me sick.

Everything about me reminds me of them.

The scar on my stomach. The mole on my collarbone, my eyes, my hair.

My hair.

And before I can stop myself, I move away from the mirror and yank the door to the bathroom open. I pull out the drawer beside the sink, my fingers clutching around the scissors with a blue handle.

My hands shake a little but I don't drop it as I walk back to the mirror.

My dark brown wavy hair cascades down my back in waves. I've always groomed my hair long. Sebastian likes it like that. He said it gives him the opportunity to grab something during backshots. He said he loves the smell of my hair.

I put the scissors in my hair and make the first cut. It is jagged. My breath hitches. But I keep going. More hair falls. On the floor. On my shoulders.

I don't cry. Not yet.

And with every piece of my hair that falls, I feel lighter. Like some of the weight that makes my heart so heavy keeps dropping with each strand.

When I'm done, it's not perfect. Not neat. I made a mental note to visit my hair stylist for a professional bob cut.

The scissors drop from my hand and clatter to the floor. I choke down a sob as I turn away from the mirror, my eyes taking in my hotel room.

I've been here for three days.

Three days of insomnia. Three days of emotional breakdown. Three days of bill after bill when I'm not even living.

I need to go out.

And I need to stay away from here.

A rational part of my mind still tells me that staying in a hotel room for so long will only leave a scar on my bank account.

I walk to the bed, grab my phone, and dial H&V main estate agent, Ms. Hailey Jones.

The line rings for a few seconds before connecting.

“Hey, this is Thea.” I say, my voice low. “Can you find me a new place? Closer to work.”

There's a pause. “You okay?”

No. But I'll be I hope.

“I just need a place closer to work for flexibility.”

A sigh. “I should be able to find an available apartment. I'll send the details to you shortly, Thea.”

There's a sound of paper shuffling from the other side. I mutter a ‘thank you’ and cut the call.

M.D privileges.

_ _ _

By the time I leave the stylist's shop, the air feels colder against the back of my neck.

Maybe I shouldn't have cut it. But there's no time for second thoughts now. Not when I feel lighter while cutting it. I even considered changing the colour but I think that would be too pathetic.

I still haven't changed cities. I may run into him.

I touch my newly cropped hair. I don't know if I love it yet but I needed something different, something new.

Our relationship had lasted for nine years. I found out I was pregnant with Finn nine months after our wedding. We were married for seven years. I can't believe I'd made the same mistake mother made. She'd mock me if she finds out.

No. Not here.

I snap myself out of my thoughts, realising I'd spaced out just on the last stairs that leads to the stylist's shop, my fingers in my hair.

A shuddering breath escapes my lips as I awkwardly pick invisible dirts in my cloth. I raise my head to spot a small café across the street. Cozy with outdoor seating and warm lights glowing behind the windows.

There are some couples sitting outside, definitely enjoying the evening breeze with chocolate. I've passed it a few times before but I've never had the reason to stop.

But today, I want to try.

Ice cream therapy. That's what I and my then friends do call it.

But they are not here anymore. Distance and work makes friendship suck and I make friendship suck. I've always been an absent friend, always pushing people away unconsciously.

I take one last breath and cross the street, the warm glow of the café pulling me forward like moth to warmth.

Inside, it smells like vanilla and roasted coffee.

I barely register the bible study group at the centre or the woman by the entrance’s window with strawberry ice-cream as I make my way to the barista’s stand.

She offers me a warm smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Mint chocolate.” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

My favourite treat reminds me of them too. Finn always says it tastes like toothpaste. Sebastian would say it tastes like brushing your teeth after a treat.

But I ordered it anyway. I can't let them wipe out every single trace of me because it reminds me of them, I can't disappear because I don't want to hurt.

Just for today.

The barista nods and rings it up. I pull out my card and make the payment. My fingers curl around the cold cup when the barista sets it down.

“Enjoy.”

I murmur a thank you and turn back, letting my eyes wander through the tables for an empty one, my gaze drifting to a far corner.

Then I freeze.

Sebastian.

Claire.

Finn.

Maybe today wasn't the day for therapy afterall.