Finding Montana

*Edits in Progress* Falling for You

I'd picked up my house keys at my realtor's office when I landed this morning so I could let the movers into the empty house. I refused to go in and see the house myself, for fear that I'd break down in the entryway and create an uncomfortable vibes for the movers, and decided to play it safe by going into town. But now that I'm soaking wet and exhausted, I have no other choice than to head into a house that was meant for me and my ex. The house is big enough to be a family home; four bedrooms, three bathrooms, plenty of room for little ones to run around and grow up in. That's what I had intended when I purchased it. Now I'm stuck here with a house that's way too big for little ol' me to handle on my own.

As I sit in my rental car, starting up at the daunting two story home in front of me, I can't help but feel fear. By walking into this craftsman-styled beast of a home, I have to finally accept the fact that I'm single again after three years and that the man I'd hoped to spend the rest of my life with is off banging his mistress while I'm here picking up the pieces of our failed relationship. I sigh and grab my bags of books as I make my way up to my doorstep, key in my hand. I stare at the wooden door in front of me. Do I really have to go in? I can feel my nerves start to take over, but I push them aside and swing the front door open.

The house is much bigger than the pictures and the realtor has lead me to believe. I remember he'd called the house a classically modest and quaint Montana home. Looking at it now I can't imagine what a fancy and godly home looks like. I stare at the vast layout, amazed by the fact that I could fit the entirety of my New York apartment just in the living room. I walk around the house, taking in the deafening silence and eerie emptiness that I hadn't prepared myself for. My vision for life and movement and noise instantly crushed by the depressing reality staring me down.

The movers had done the best job they could unloading my belongings into the house with little to no instruction. Furniture was not in the rooms I had envisioned and picture frames lined the floor of the hallway. I look over at the clock that had been placed on the mantel of my living room's fireplace and see it's 4:30 in the afternoon. Oh, how time has flown on this dreadful day.

I stare at my couch, my heart telling me to just curl up in a ball and cry. My mind telling me to keep trudging forward and not let my emotions overwhelm me. My phone buzzes in my purse and I quickly grab it and answer that incoming call.

"Hello," I mutter. My energy has been completely sapped and I can't even muster a friendly voice to greet the other person on the phone.

"Molly, are you okay love?" Brigette, my amazing manager, asks in her slight British accent. My heart aches to see her and vent about my awful day, but thousands of miles stand between the two of us.

"I've been better." I sigh and lay down on the couch. I curl up in a ball, grabbing a blanket from the opened box nearby before wrapping myself up like a caterpillar protecting itself in a cocoon, and I place my phone on speaker and lay it near my head. I don't have enough willpower to hold the phone to y head right now. "Did you hear what happened?" I choke up at the mere thought of Damien's brutal betrayal.

"I just heard, dear." I can tell Brigette is pissed off, but she's not going to take her anger out on me when she person she's really mad at is my to-timing ex. "I'm catching the next flight out to Montana. I also had the landlord change your locks on your apartment in the city. I'll be bringing you your new keys. Apparently Damien went there with his mistress after dumping you at the airport."

"I don't want him in there ever again." I sternly say, my heart speeding up at the thought of him soiling my apartment with some other girl. I hadn't even thought he'd go back to the home we'd spent three years building. He'd already taken all his belongings and packed them up for our move to Montana. The only reason I was still holding onto the lease for my apartment in New York was to have a place to stay for conferences, book releases, and other in-person meetings that I'd be required to fly in for. "Make sure the front desk takes away his key the next time he enters that building. I don't want him anywhere near my place in New York."