He’s gone.
The days are long . . . but the nights are endless.
Sleeping without him is a hell that I can’t endure.
So I don’t.
I pace . . . all night. Back and forth, back and forth . . . until my legs ache.
It’s been nine days since Tristan left me.
Nine days in sheer hell.
The house is silent, the laughter gone. The boys are barely speaking
to me.
Not only have I broken my heart; I’ve broken the four others that I love the most.
My sons’ and Tristan’s.
I stare at my computer. I have no urge to be at work . . . to be at home . . . to breathe.
My phone buzzes across my desk, and the name Fletcher lights up the screen.
“Hey, buddy.” I smile. Hopefully he’s talking to me again.
“Tristan is leaving,” he whispers.
“What?”
“He’s going to Paris.”
“For how long?”
“He just transferred my internship to Jameson.”
I stand as my eyes widen. “What?”
“He said he’s not coming back, Mom. You really did it,” he whispers angrily.
I screw up my face in tears, so close to the edge of the cliff I can almost feel myself hitting the bottom. “I’m coming,” I stammer. “Keep him there; I’m coming.”
I grab my bag and run.
Marley stands up as I run past her. “What in the world?”
“I’m out for the day,” I call.
“Huh?” she calls after me. “But you have a meeting in an hour.”
“Cancel it,” I call as I run into the elevator. I hit the button with force. “Come on, come on.”
I can’t let him go.
He can’t go.
The doors slowly close, and I tap my foot nervously. “Hurry.”