Protect My Heart

Chapter 1

CLOVER

Sometimes staying in love feels like dying, I thought as I sat in that office.

My focus trained across the room: the beige walls, the hardwood floor, and the black leather couch where I was seated on. A large wooden desk was located at the far-end corner with a desktop on top, and a picture frame next to it. Trash bin right under. I placed the glass of water back on the coffee table, across where the woman sat, on the crimson armchair, writing down information in the notebook in her hands.

It had been a while since I'd visited this place.

Her earlier office – from years ago – had been too plain, but now I found the colorful texture irksome.

I shifted my gaze to the window. It poured rain outside. For an unknown reason, rain always fascinated me. In my case, the most comfortable sensation in the world was sitting inside with a good book or even watching television, cuddled up in a blanket with a cup of tea.

But this morning was an exception. A cause I was definitely aware of.

I turned back to the shrink. I'd not visited her in a decade. The last time was in high school. It wasn't my intention to see her, but with a push from my guy best friend, I showed up. I did not see the point. Of course, it had helped back when I was a teenager, but this was different. And besides, it had done good for only a single day, and I needed more than that.

I needed it to work forever.

Therapists hardly worked in the long run. Asking for someone's help repeatedly usually ran out and you ended up alone. I had a belief: if it's not going to get better with a few tries, then why would it ever? What's the logic? It's a waste of time. Therapy's a waste of time.

Because of times like these, I held a strong animosity towards my friends. Although, if they had not been there for me for all those years, then I wouldn't have survived. Without their help.

There was not a large proportion of difference with Margaret. Except for her hair shaded into light brown. A photograph of her profound family sat on the desk. God, she had six kids and a husband. If you looked at her, you couldn't even tell she'd had kids.

Well, we all now know whose husband has super sperm. Along with my guy best friend.

"Clover, wow! How long has it been since I last saw you? Six... seven years?"

"Almost eight, but close." I shrugged.

Margaret smiled. "So why are you here? My apologies, wrong start. How've you been?"

It was one of the questions I had hated all my life.

I flashed her my infamous fake smile, the one that made an appearance whenever someone asked this. I felt like a teenager again. "I'm great. I'm a mother of a wonderful three-year-old daughter. She's the light of my life."

Sounds like poor movie dialogue.

"Oh, that is wonderful! Children are such a gift," she gloated. "But what about the father?"

I stilled at the inquiry, the heartache now evident.

"Let's just say he's not in the picture anymore. He's gone." I swallowed hard. "This is the reason I'm here. To tell you the story of what happened."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. What was his name?"

I twirled the wedding ring on my finger. In the past two years, it'd not come off my finger. How could it when the love was still there? I considered putting it on the middle finger, as an act of revenge. "Logan."