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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Fuck.
What the hell just happened?
What the fuck did I just do?"
I stumble through the front door after watching Delaney walk away and slam it shut behind me before leaning my full weight against it. My legs barely hold me up. Every breath I drag into my lungs is sharp and uneven, coming so fast my chest burns with the effort. I squeeze my eyes shut and tip my head back against the wood, forcing myself to inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth, but it doesn't help. The harder I try to slow my breathing, the worse it gets.
My throat feels tight enough to choke me.
My mouth has gone dry.
Then I think about everything I just said to her. Every made-up reason. Every excuse. Every lie.
Saliva floods the back of my mouth so fast it makes me gag.
I shove away from the door and barely make it three steps before I brace both hands against my knees, my stomach pitching so violently I think I'm about to throw up. I swallow hard, but it only makes the nausea worse. My entire body feels like it's rejecting what I've done.
The room tilts.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I straighten and press my forehead against the cold wall, willing the floor to stop shifting beneath me. My fingers dig into the drywall until they ache, but it does nothing to steady me. Maybe it's because I can't catch my breath. Maybe I'm on the edge of a full-blown panic attack.
Or maybe this is what it feels like to rip out your own heart and still be expected to keep living.
I just let the love of my life walk away. I made her think I don't want her and there's no taking it back.
A raw, pained sound tears out of my chest before I realize it's mine.
I lean forward, my hands resting on the archway as I fight for air that never feels like enough. My chest jerks with each breath, each one scraping against a pain that feels too big to fit inside me. Instinct has me pressing the heel of my hand against my sternum, as though enough pressure might hold together whatever just split apart inside me.
It doesn't.
The tears come anyway.
I don't try and stop them.
I don't wipe them away.
I don't even have the energy to care.
I know I was out there. I know I looked Delaney in the eyes. I know I said every word. But none of it feels real. It feels like I watched someone else destroy the only thing I've ever wanted while I stood there trapped inside my own body, unable to stop him.
