Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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Sleep doesn't come. Again.
I try anyway, lying still long enough for my body to believe it might happen, shifting onto my side, then my back, then the other side again. The sheets twist around my legs. My mind doesn't slow down with me. It keeps moving, circling the same thoughts until they blur.
I count sheep. I stretch. I sit up and drink the second cup of tea I made an hour ago, but all that does is make me have to pee. At some point, I start listing designers from spring's Fashion Week in my head, like if I keep going long enough, I'll eventually run out of things to think about.
Breaking news: I don't.
The Ambien sits where the paramedics left it. Too close and too easy to consider. But I don't touch it.
Eventually, I give up.
I push the covers back and get dressed without turning on the light – shorts, a sports bra, and Nico's sweatshirt pulled over my head more out of habit than anything else. The house is quiet as I move through it, the kind of stillness that should feel calming but unnerves me instead.
The sky is just beginning to lighten when I step on the porch.
It's different here. Six a.m. in Manhattan never looked like this. It sounded like horns and voices and footsteps moving too fast, coffee shops already full, the city awake before it even had a chance to rest. By now, Will would be halfway through his morning – gym, shower, suit, coffee, everything times down to the minute.
The thought comes without warning – and it lingers longer than I want it to.
I step off the porch before it can dig itself deeper.
Heading down the quiet street, the early morning stillness settles around me as I make my way toward Dawson's Beach. The walk is familiar enough that I don't have to think about it – past darkened houses, dew clinging to the grass, the faint sound of waves growing louder the closer I get.
By the time I reach the sand, it's cool under my feet, soft and uneven as it shifts with each step toward the water. The air smells like salt and honeysuckle, and for a second, it almost feels like it used to – like I could breathe here without thinking about it.
Almost.
I close my eyes and take a slow breath in, trying to hold onto that feeling.
It doesn't stick.
Suddenly, something barrels into me, all energy and momentum, knocking me off balance.
"Well, hello there," I utter, laughing under my breath as I reach down, my fingers sinking into soft golden fur. The retriever bounces up on its hind legs, tail wagging hard enough to move its whole body, paws damp with sand as it leans into me like we've known each other forever. "Aren't you adorable. But who do you belong to?"
