“I want the transfer to go as smoothly as possible.” I look at the representative from Belle Park, a facility less than two miles from here—two more miles of traffic, but at this point I have to prioritize. “He’s likely to be very resistant to the move, but I need to get him into a place that can provide the best level of care. Without interruption.”

Cole nods solemnly. I’m sure he hears this kind of thing a hundred times a day. “Ms. James, I will personally oversee your father’s transfer.” He glances down at the paperwork in front of him. “It looks like there’s a match between the services being provided at Overbrook, including the one-on-one aide, and what we can offer here, so there should be no delay on that front.” He looks me in the eye. “Based on your descriptions, I’m confident we’ll be able to manage any issues he has.”

I swallow hard. I’ve been brutally honest about my father’s recent behavior. I haven’t been brutally honest about something else, though.

“I’m glad to hear it.” I lift my chin. “There’s something else I should—” I clear my throat. “As you can probably see, my father won’t qualify for Medicare for another several months, so I’ll be handling the payments for him. I wanted to know if—” I am not going to cry in front of Cole. Cole, who looks like he’s barely old enough to be one of my law school classmates. “I wanted to discuss payment options with you.”

My palms start to sweat, and I press them nervously against my skirt. Cole folds his hands on top of the desk. “We’ve got flexible options here.” His voice is even, and I have to give him credit for not sounding condescending, even though I’m in here practically begging to cut a deal. “If you’d like, we can look into spreading out the amount over the next year. Or even the next couple of years.” My chin starts to tremble, but I won’t let him pity me. “I want to reassure you, Ms. James, that we will absolutely work with you on this. It’s only a matter of months until we’ll be able to completely reevaluate the costs.”

I grit my teeth, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m glad to hear it.” I reach across the table and Cole extends his hand for me to shake it. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment back in the city.”

“I’ll be in touch with the transfer details. If there’s anything you don’t like, please don’t hesitate to let me know, and we’ll reconsider.”

I feel his eyes on my back as I leave his office, moving for the front entrance as quickly as I can.

It’s raining out—a heavy September rain that falls violently against the sidewalk—and I fumble for my umbrella, anxious to get somewhere private.

I was lying about the appointment.

Half-lying. I do have a study group that I’m supposed to attend, and skipping it would be a mistake.

But the weight of everything that’s happened—my father’s wild shift in personality, the fact that I drove Weston right out of my life, all of it—is too much to bear.

Two days without him, and it’s too much to bear.

I force my expression into some semblance of calm for the train ride back to Midtown, then climb the stairs to my apartment with legs so heavy it’s like I’ve been tranquilized.

My books for law school are piled on my desk. I walk straight past them, kick off my shoes, and let myself fall into bed.

The tears are still hot on my cheeks when I fall asleep.

It’s dark out when I wake up, pushing my hair away from my face to squint at my phone. Nine o’clock? Jesus.

I reach for the lamp on my bedside table and flip it on, illuminating the apartment in its glow. Then I lean back against the pillows.

Not a single missed call. Not a single missed text.

He called yesterday—once, twice, and then three times in a row. But I couldn’t bear to hear his voice. Not then. Not after that ugly tension had risen between us. Not after I’d finally seen him crack under frustration—and the result hadn’t been pretty. 

Then again, I hadn’t been at my best either.

“This is for the best.” My voice sounds small and unconvincing echoing off the walls of my tiny studio apartment. There’s nothing of paradise here. I didn’t bring a single thing back from Maui except the memory of being there with Weston, curled around each other at every opportunity.

I press my face into the pillow. This is ridiculous. I did the right thing, telling him to leave. It would have ended like that eventually—Weston pushing too far, and me letting him have it.

It was only ever supposed to be a game—a sexy, thrilling game that would be even more tantalizing in retrospect.

But if it was a game, then why do I feel like my heart has been crumpled up like an old newspaper and left to rot in the garbage?

My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and I snatch it up from the comforter, my heart pounding.

You coming in?

Coming in…where?

The name on the screen finally connects with the message, and I let out a groan.

I had a shift at the Rose tonight. It started two hours ago.

I send back a single word:

No.

Peter is going to lose his mind. I’ve had to leave for emergencies, but this? This is a different story entirely. His answer comes in almost immediately.

You’re skipping your shift?!?? Did you tell Greg?

I frown at the phone before typing my reply. If he’s pissed, he can fire me.

I curl my fist around my phone and tumble out of the bed, heading straight for the closet. I strip off the business casual outfit I wore to meet with Cole and leave it in a pile on the floor, then dig out a pair of ratty pajama pants and a tank top. That’s as dressed up as I’m getting tonight.

Every muscle in my body aches—a deep ache, the kind of ache that lingers, that settles into your bones. It’s all I can do to get back to the couch.

I ignore the stream of texts coming in from Peter, open a food delivery app, and choose the nearest Chinese restaurant. The order is outrageous. I don’t care.

I eat it all and follow it up with ice cream.

“I did the right thing,” I tell myself, my gut churning with the food. “I did the right thing.”