Our fine china plates lined with gold were set in front of us on the table, while the full glasses of wine sat right beside our dishes.

"Angelica, why don't you say grace?" My mother always asked me to say grace, never Tene, and I wondered if Tene remembered why.

I lowered my head and pressed my hands together. Grace was a time of reflection, a time to be thankful for the things we were fortunate to have when so many didn't. I was thankful for so many things. Especially for my father. That he was able to spend another year with us.

When we almost lost him to the heart attack, over a year ago, my mother couldn't deal, and I’d been there for her emotionally.

Tene was the one who had kept the family going. She was the one who’d gotten up every day and taken charge. She’d hired property managers for those properties that weren't local and had made her rounds to all our local tenants to formally tell them that she would be handling all their needs in the interim.

My mother cleared her throat, reminding me of my duties. "Thank you, God,” I started, “for allowing us to gather here in your presence to celebrate another birthday with my father. May you bless him with many more years to come. Keep him healthy, happy, and safe." And then I began with the standard prayer of grace. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts …”

When I finished, Tene chimed in, "Rub-a-dub-dub. Thank you, Lord, for this grub, amen."

Everyone laughed. Everyone except my mother.

"So how was Corrington, Christene?" Mom asked, picking up her glass of wine.

Tene straightened in her seat, and her face pinched with annoyance. "You asked me this earlier, mother. It was great. Hobson wants to rent our other strip mall when the grocery store’s lease is up at the end of the year."

My mother wanted Tene to repeat this story for the Spencers’ benefit. I was sure my mother and father had heard this as soon as Tene had walked into the house.

Kathleen, Roland's mother, turned toward my father. "Leo, are you building out more properties?"

My dad leaned back against his chair and took a sip of wine. "Not at the moment." Words didn't need to be said to understand that the state of his health wasn't well and that we weren't even sure if he'd ever return to work or be retired forever. "We're concentrating on acquiring developed properties in Rosendell and the cities we’re currently in; then we'll look to branching out in cities out of state." Christene talked with an air of authority and confidence, one that I was jealous of. "With all the changes in management, we're working on maintaining our relationships with our current tenants and adding new ones. The latest big win for us was landing CJW Investments LLC at our downtown Rosendell location. It's that new restaurant and bar on Elgin Avenue."

I perked up straighter on my seat, wanting to know more about Allswell.

"Who's CJW Investments?" Mother’s head poked up, a forkful of pasta in her hand.

"Only one of the most well-known investment groups. They own half of the upscale restaurants and bars across the nation.” Christene lifted her chin and sported a satisfied smile. “Have you ever heard of Everest in the Bellagio or Cloke at the Caesars?"

My mouth dropped open, my fork pinging against my plate.

Tene shrugged one shoulder. "I have to know these things. It's all part of the business."

My father nodded as though he knew them as well, but it saddened me to see him take such a back-seat role to the company he’d built.

"Cade ... I mean, Mr. Ryder,” I corrected, “is the owner of those restaurants in Vegas?"

My sister smiled teasingly at me. The kind of smile that made my ears warm and my cheeks flush bright red. I tore my gaze from hers and stuffed more pasta into my mouth.

"Yes, he's one of the investors and runs the businesses. I guess he has some silent partners. I asked about them, wanted to know if they were single," she said nonchalantly, but I wanted to shove a fistful of pasta in her mouth.

"Christene," my mother scolded.

"Mom, I'm kidding.” She chuckled. “But really, I'm sure his silent partners have more than enough money to fund his business ventures. They paid a whole year’s rent in cash."

I went to pick up my wineglass, noticing that my fingers trembled against the stem. "Why are they picking Rosendell as their next conquest?" I took a sip of my wine.

"I've heard of them," Roland said, causing me to cough up my drink.

All heads turned my way. "Sorry. Wrong pipe." I waved a hand, playing it off.

Roland leaned back in his chair and tucked his hands in his armpits. "I mean, we're into investing in manufacturing companies, not restaurants, but yes, CJW is pretty big." There was a certain gleam in his eye, the same look he got when he talked about work.

My father spoke up, answering my question while everyone else ignored it. "Rosendell has a lot of money, dear. High-end shops. It's the small-town New York City."

"Yeah, I guess, but Vegas compared to Rosendell?" I'd never been to Vegas, but I knew there was no comparison.

Tene poured more wine in her glass. "I asked Cade that same question, Ang. They've taken on the biggest cities in the nation—New York, Chicago, Los Angeles—and now they are branching out to the smaller, lucrative cities. And get this ..." She leaned in closer as if clueing us in to some little secret. "After they've conquered the US, they’re hitting international. Ibiza is next."

"Wow," I said, like a kid surprised by a present. I was floored that the tattooed hottie was a total businessman.

"Good win, Christene," my father commented, patting her on her back. She smiled sweetly at him, and he pinched her cheek.

"Like daughter, like daddy." She held out her fist, and he bumped it with his own.

I bit my bottom lip, taking in their interaction. I’d always been jealous of their relationship. It was as if he had favored her to outweigh the expectations and tension between my mother and her.

"Christene, you're doing great. Armstrong Enterprises is going to be just fine," Roland said, before reaching for my hand and squeezing it. "Don't worry, babe. You can just raise our baby. I'll be taking care of the both of us." He was obviously teasing, but under his cheerful chuckle, there was some truth to his words.

I sucked in my surprise, carefully closing off my features. "I don't think my parents want to see all their hard-earned investment in my education go down the drain." I let out a forced laugh and took another sip of wine. Maybe more wine would calm the blood boiling beneath the surface.

The table turned silent and everyone's stare ping-ponged between us.

"There's nothing wrong with raising children. I haven't worked a day in my life," Kathleen said. Though she’d had her housekeepers to help her clean and raise Roland, Kathleen prided herself in keeping house, and I didn't think there was anything wrong with that. But that was her life, not mine. I didn't want the same things.

Roland seemed to sense my tension. "I didn't mean you couldn't work for a while before we ..." he began, but his mother placed her hand on top of his, stopping him from digging himself deeper into the hole with each and every word that sputtered out of his mouth.

"Actually," Christene said, pausing to swallow her drink, "when we take over, she’ll technically be making more than you so you could be the one to watch your babies.” She let out a boisterous laugh. So loud, so obnoxious, as though she thought she was the funniest thing in the world. And, in turn, my lips turned upward.

I glanced at my father, and when our eyes met, he started to laugh. Even Nana was laughing.

My mother was not. "Christene," she said through clenched teeth.

"Chill, mother,” Tene said tiredly. “It's a joke. If Roland wants a baby that badly, Angie should go to the bathroom upstairs and push a little turd out for him right now."

My father, Nana, and I laughed harder.

"Christene!" my mother scolded, now red-faced and furious.

My father tapped his fork on the table, wisely changing the subject. "Anyway, I've been thinking about the future of Armstrong lately."

My mother turned toward him, her furious face fading, and being replaced with genuine concern. "No, you are not working until you are one hundred percent better and you have clearance from your doctor."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek to placate her. "Of course, dear, and until the wife clears me to work."

While Christene had a knack for making every awkward situation lighter, my father had a knack for switching my mother's mood in a nanosecond.

When her concern didn’t ebb, he added soothingly, "Don't worry, I plan to get better. I wasn't thinking of going back anytime soon. Christene has done an amazing job. More than amazing.” He winked over the table at her. “We were able to acquire new locations, fill tenancies to almost one hundred percent occupied."

"Uh, Dad, why does it seem like you're firing me?" Christene cocked her head.

"Of course not, honey. Let me finish. Plus, with the win of CJW Investments, I could not be prouder of you. But I think we should switch it up for a bit."

Christene brightened suddenly, grabbing her wineglass and doing a dance-y sway. "Switchity uppity up? Throw in some spice? Let’s hear it. I like a little spice in my life."

His face became serious as he addressed us both. "Let’s switch properties. Angie, you handle all of Rosendell's properties downtown, and Christene, you handle our suburban properties and all properties out of state. This will give you more free time to concentrate on expansion in the neighboring states."

"What?" my mother and I gasped in unison.

Christene nodded approvingly. "I think it's a perfect idea, Dad."

Christene smiled sweetly at me, and I'd bet my trust fund she was thinking the same thing I was thinking—Cade.

My mother shifted in her seat. "Honey, do you think that's a good idea? Angie is barely getting her feet wet with the business."

"It's fine.” He gave me a look that showed his confidence in me, and I felt touched, although still unprepared. “She's doing an amazing job. I heard Bob tried to get out of the annual increases when she went over there to have him sign the lease extension." There was a glint of humor in his eyes. "But you held your ground, didn't you, Angie?" He tipped his chin, pride heavy in his eyes.

Everyone turned in my direction, and I averted my gaze, afraid they'd know the truth. That my father had put him up to test me, and Bob had never really been planning to leave.

"I guess," I said quietly.

"You'll do great." He pushed back his chair and lifted his plate. "I guess baby making will have to wait, Roland." He didn't smile when he uttered those words, his tone serious.

My father and mother had raised independent women, and he wasn't too pleased about Roland's grand plan for my future.

Maybe someday, I'd want to stay home and raise children, but not at twenty-four. I wasn't thinking of babies yet.

My insides fluttered with the excitement about my new responsibility. Finally, my time had come to contribute to this family.

My father picked up my mother's plate as the others began to disperse.

"Let's blow out the candles in the kitchen," my mother called out, stacking the Spencers' plates and separating the silverware.

"Don't worry. You'll do great." Christene pinched my bottom, making me jump. She added discreetly, "Plus, I hear some of your tenants are pretty hot."

I wrinkled my nose at her, and she just laughed.

Cade was hot, there was no doubt. But nothing was going to get in my way. I was going to prove to my father that I was up for this challenge.

Business, not pleasure. Business, not pleasure.

That would be my mantra until Cade left to pursue his next restaurant. Which, hopefully, would be soon.

* * *

Sometimes, I was the biggest kid out there, even in my early twenties. I bounced on my toes as excitement rushed through me. I peered over my father’s shoulder to make sure his eyes were closed. "No peeking, Dad."

Everyone congregated around my father as I placed the three-layer chocolate cake in front of him. In curvy letters, it said “Happy 57th birthday, Dad.” On top of the cake, a replica of the city of Rosendell had been sculpted from fondant, primarily the street where our main buildings were—Elgin Avenue. It took me hours to prepare the cake, from baking to preparing the buttercream, then decorating with fondant.

Christene and I had taken my mother for a cake decorating class once for one of her birthdays. However, I was the only one who continued to make cakes. Tene was the one who continued to eat them.

When I lit the candles, one by one, my father twisted in his seat. "Keep your eyes shut," I commanded.

My mother and Tene assisted in grabbing the candles on the cake and lighting the other candles.

"Darling, you have talent," Kathleen commented next to me, placing her hand on my shoulder.

Roland chuckled. "Yes, Mother, and I am the benefactor of her talent. Speaking of which, someone else’s birthday is coming up soon." He poked at my side teasingly, and a cheesy smile crept up my face because my big day was next.

When all fifty-seven candles were lit, I clasped my hands together and stood right next to my father. "Okay, open them."

My father's whole face lit up and his eyes filled with pride. "It's your best work yet, Angie."

I swallowed hard, feeling emotional. We had stopped doing presents for him five years ago when he’d said he didn't need any more junk and he had everything he needed in his life—his family. But I always felt a joy swell inside me at seeing how pleased he was with my cakes.

And then I whispered the three words I personally waited for every year. It's what I wanted to do on my birthday, and I'd never missed a year since I was a little kid. "Make a wish." Birthdays meant new beginnings. A new year, a new start, and that one wish—whatever you wanted to wish for on your special day—was epic. My father was only ever going to be fifty-six once, and this meant a new beginning at fifty-seven, as well as moving on from a difficult previous year with the high hopes that he didn’t encounter health issues anymore.

As he closed his eyes, time stood still. I watched him blow out all fifty-seven candles. It was as though he was blowing out the old him and simultaneously wishing for something new.

My mother planted a sweet kiss on his lips. "Happy birthday, darling."

My father and mother were opposites, but their love had gotten him through his sickness. Despite either of their flaws, their love had persevered through years of marriage.

When I walked to the other side of the kitchen to the cabinets to get some plates, Roland came up behind me and tugged on my arm. "We need to leave."

"What? No." I ignored him and proceeded to get out the plates and cutlery.

"I just got a text from Conner. He sent me a contract, but it's too big to pull up on my phone. I need my computer.” His face was expectant. “So, we need to leave right now."

When he gripped my elbow, I jerked away. "It's my dad's birthday."

"Be a little more considerate here, Angie," he said impatiently.

"Considerate?” I scoffed. “That's funny coming from you. It's my father's birthday. You should have driven here separately. Conner can wait a few hours."

He straightened and projected his voice so the whole room could hear. "Liz, I'm sorry, but we'll have to get going soon. I have an early day tomorrow."

My mother smiled from the coffee machine. "Of course. Just stay for a few to give Angie enough time to eat her cake."

The vein in my temple twitched. "You didn't tell me we were leaving early, honey." I gritted my teeth, grinding my molars. Everyone's focus was on us, but it didn't dim the anger that flowed through me.

"Angie, we're just about done here,” my mother insisted. “We wouldn't want you to go home too late, anyway." When she waved a hand and continued to pour coffee for our guests, I stormed past Roland who was in my way.

"Excuse me for a second. Bathroom break." I rushed through the kitchen doors, up the stairs and into my childhood room, where I shut the door and plopped on the bed, clutching the pillow against my chest.

I needed a minute. One minute.

Deep breaths left my mouth, and I focused on the ceiling as memories of the past few days, weeks, and even years pushed to the surface.

Any other day I would’ve given in, but not today, not my father's birthday. And my mother? Couldn't she sense the distress in my tone? Why did she constantly take Roland's side?

I peered up at the pink and purple curtains that hadn't changed since I was a kid. The light colors had comforted me when I was younger, but not today.

A heavy sigh escaped, and I let all the frustrations of the day and our relationship pour out of me. The deep-rooted animosity that was growing within me directed at Roland could not be healthy.

I was unhappy.

That was the truth of the matter.

And things had to change.

* * *

After ten minutes and in typical Angelica fashion, I put a smile on my face and headed downstairs like everything was right in my world, just as my mother had taught me. The house could be burning down, but my face would maintain its steady calm.

I ate my cake, while Roland stood, tapping his watch numerous times. But I'd decided I wouldn't let him ruin one of my favorite celebrations, so I simply ignored him.

Was this my life now? My insides twisted from fear of my future. It was only going to get worse down the road. He’d work more, expect more from me, be more controlling with my time. I couldn’t allow this to happen. I wouldn’t.

Not able to stand Roland's face any longer, I moved to the kitchen and helped Tene and Mother clean up the dinner dishes, while the Spencers sat with my father in the family room, enjoying cake and coffee.

You'd think Kathleen Spencer would’ve offered to assist, but no. Not when she thought that was purely the maid's job.

One thing I appreciated about my mother was that, though we could afford maids and butlers and chauffeurs, we never had them. My father had taught us the business side of Armstrong Realty, but my mother had instilled in us the value of a clean house and taught us to be self-sufficient.

I continued to empty the leftovers into the garbage while Tene filled up the dishwasher.

"Girls, I've booked us tickets to the Jones’ charity function in a couple of months," Mother said.

The tension in the room was palpable. Tene had already told my mother that she had plans and couldn’t attend, yet my mother seemed to ignore her. It was a never-ending battle between them. An emotional tug of war.

Tene's jaw locked as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Mother," she hissed, "I told you how many times that I couldn't go to the Jones' function? That I bought tickets to Ed Sheeran way before you even told me about this charity event."

My mother turned toward her nonchalantly, scooping the extra pasta into a Tupperware container. "Well, you know we have to show a united front. Especially at an event as big as this." She turned toward the fridge, opened it, and glided the container inside. "Cancel it." Her tone was clipped and short. She wasn’t budging.

Tene's eyes shot in my direction, as though asking me to help her out. If looks could kill, my mother's head would be mounted on the wall like a deer's head. She motioned her hands in a choke hold as though she wanted to strangle my mother.

I pinched my thumb and pointer finger into an okay sign. "Calm down," I mouthed.

Tene was anything but calm. I knew the next thing out of her mouth would be bad.

"Mom, we don't need Tene there,” I said quickly. “I'll be there, plus Roland will take her spot."

She flipped toward me. "Roland is already going with his family to show support for the Jones' loss of Abigail to cancer. They are showing their support, and we need to show ours. It's disrespectful if we don't."

My sister's nostrils flared, her face turning a shade darker. And I knew she was about to huff and puff and blow the house down. “We aren’t even close to them. We only started going because your country club friends started going to the Jones’ fundraisers.”

I got between them, blocking Tene's view of my mother. "We've been going ten years in a row, and it's really not Tene's fault that they moved the date when they specifically had the first weekend in October every year before this year's event."

"Well, you just can't assume things, dear."

"Mom," I begged.

"Oh, my god," Tene sassed. "You're too much. Seriously?" She raised her hands, exasperated. "How the hell was I supposed to know they'd change their date? What did you want me to do? Wait for them to decide? Mother, that's ridiculous!"

I could see the train wreck coming and felt a panic, desperately wanting to stop it. You'd think since these blowups happened on a semi-monthly basis, that I'd get used to it. Still, I hated confrontation. It wasn't in my nature, and most definitely not when there was tension in the family.

"Tene ..." My wide eyes were begging her to chill out, but it was too late. All I saw was pure rage in her features.

"Lower your voice. We have company." My mother's features turned murderous as she moved her focus toward the door.

Tene’s temper flared. "What? So everyone doesn't know how dysfunctional we are! How you like to control me or, more so, this family? That all you care about is what people see on the outside? You don't care that I'm unhappy, that this is more a dictatorship. This family. This life. That if we don't do what you say, you’ll throw our trust fund in our face.” Her voice was cold and lashing. “I made those plans more than six months ago. I'm not purposely doing this to spite you! What don't you understand? I'm sure the Jones' won't even know that I'm there."

"Enough!" My mother's shout silenced her.

Tene's chest rose and fell with each breath, as though she'd just run a mile and was not slowing down. Her face was flushed pink, and her hands were fisted tightly at her sides.

My mother pointed her manicured fingernail in Tene's direction. "You're canceling that concert."

That was the last straw. Tene’s anger hardened her features. "Nope. Not going to happen. I'm going to that concert. And while you're at that charity function, I'll make it a point to get butt-ass wasted and laid—by multiple men."

My mother's jaw tightened, her disgust clear on her face. "That's all you're good for, anyway."

"Mom," I pleaded, "Stop. Please."

Tene flinched at her words. "I'm leaving this joint. Tell Dad, Roland, and the Spencers I said bye." Tene crossed the kitchen, gave me a hug, and stomped past my mother and called back, "You never know, I could be the one to give you your first bastard grandkid." She laughed without humor as she stormed out and the door slammed shut behind her.

My mother huffed through her nose, shaking it off as though it had never happened, then she turned to me, smiling. "Should we bring the cookies out?" She maintained composure, though her eyes showed the true torment reigning in her heart. That's how we were built the same. Everything around us could be burning down to the ground, but we'd maintain composure with a smile on our faces.

Concern crossed my features. I knew their relationship took a toll on her, but I didn't know why she pushed Tene so hard.

I approached her and put my hand on top of hers, to stop hers from trembling. "You know she says those things to get a rise out of you. Just like you say those things to get a rise out of her." Silence ensued until I spoke again. "Are you okay?"

My sister dated, but she was no hooker. She didn't just sleep with anybody. If anything, she was far pickier than most of the girls in Rosendell.

My mother's trembling hand touched my face. "At least I have one daughter that cares for the well-being of her mother."

I smiled, just a small smile, but my insides churned. Her words spoke to the truth of the matter; I had always been the obedient one, the one who listened, the one they depended on. The one who never strayed.

As many times as I'd been jealous of my sister because of her beauty, I'd been equally jealous of her I-don't-give-a-shit attitude. Because there was freedom in doing what you wanted and not basing every decision on how your choices would affect others.

And I was certain there was happiness in that freedom.

* * *

I had a pounding headache during the ride home, so I rubbed at my temple and tried to tame the brewing migraine that heightened with the sound of Roland's voice.

"It's almost eleven o'clock." There was an eerie calm to his tone with a menacing undercurrent. "You know I have work tomorrow. You know that I will most likely be up all night. We should’ve left earlier."

I simply stayed silent and still, and the only indication of the anger brewing inside of me was my nails indenting my palms.

I tried to block him out, but he kept going and going like the Energizer Bunny, his mouth, his complaints, flowing nonstop.

When he pulled into our garage, he grumbled about work and having responsibility. By the time we walked into our condo, the meter on my mood box went from hot to boiling hella overflowing hot. The pounding in my head intensified as though a jackhammer was drilling holes in my brain.

On autopilot, my feet took me into our room and into our closet, and I pulled open the dresser to get my pajamas.

“And now I’ll be up all night working on this proposal. If we only left when I told you to leave.” He had followed me into our closet.

I jerked in his direction, unable to handle it anymore. “Can you please be quiet? I get it, okay!”

My pounding headache coupled with his dictating tone had been my undoing.

He glanced at me with indignation. “I don’t think you get it. How important this job is to me ... how important this deal is.”

My eyebrows shot to my hairline, and the pounding in my head now spread to my ears, my neck, my pulse.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

“Will you shut up? You know what I’m not dealing with? This!”

At my wit’s end, I pulled out a suitcase and stuffed some work clothes and undergarments and toiletries for the next week into a duffel bag. Maybe I could sleep over at Tene’s for a night. But if I didn't leave soon, all this pent-up animosity would turn into a hatred for the only man I'd ever been romantically involved with.

“Where are you going? Are you leaving me?” He barked out a laugh, his tone dismissive.

And then he proceeded to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt while my suitcase laid directly by my feet.

Something suddenly sparked inside of me, and I felt a fight forming within me.

He doesn’t believe I can do it. Leave him.

Who is this man? Where is the man I fell in love with?

I couldn't take any more of this life, any more disappointments, any more heartbreak. I grabbed the extra keys to the condos I managed on the southside of Rosendell and slipped the oversized bag on my shoulder. When I stormed out of our walk-in closet, Roland was strolling out of the bathroom.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

I said the words to his face, so he’d know I was serious. “We’re done. We’ve been done for a while now.”

The words rang out true and loud, like a final bell in a Las Vegas fight.

I lifted my chin, though my pulse beat a million times a minute.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Actually leaving him.

But I was. I felt the decision solidify inside me, and I knew I was doing it. "It's over, Roland. We have a lot to talk through—the logistics of the apartment and our belongings—but since I know you'd rather work, and you have a long day tomorrow, I'm going to be considerate, and we can talk about this later." My voice dripped with icy sarcasm.

He gripped my wrist tightly, and his face paled with anger. "You're being ridiculous."

I tugged at the hand clutching my wrist, cutting off the circulation. "Let me go, Roland. You’re hurting me."

When he didn't release me, I jerked my hand away from his grasp and turned toward the door.

"You're acting crazy." He followed me down the hall to our foyer where I slipped on my shoes and stuffed an extra pair of heels into the bag. "Get back here!" His tone hitched with a possessive desperation.

I stormed through the doors, and he followed me into the hallway, throwing his hands in the air. "Throw your tantrum, Angie. That's fine because you know you'll come right back here." Such confidence in his words, but for the first time in our relationship, I saw a spark of doubt in his eyes.

I stood there, hoping that he’d soften, fight for me, fight for us, something, anything.

But after a few seconds, I knew he wouldn’t.

When the elevators pinged open, I stepped in. I watched the elevators close in front of me, shutting the door to my old life out and leaving me all alone with my new one.

But for the first time in years, hope bloomed. And my faith flared in promises of a better future.

* * *

Armstrong Realty owned condos on the south side of Rosendell. We rented them out as temporary housing, mostly to working professionals. Fully furnished with pots and pans and dishes, our condos were in move-in condition, and I was ready to move in.

Maybe this was reckless. Maybe I wasn't thinking things through for once. But one thing I knew was that I was done with empty promises, and I was emotionally and physically tired of being in a one-sided relationship. I threw my packed bag on the kitchen counter and surveyed the area. The one-bedroom condo was modest with a tan microfiber couch against the wall, kitty-corner to a 50” flat screen TV.

My phone pinged again with a text. I ignored it because it was most likely from Roland. He’d been texting since I’d left, but there was nothing that would get me to talk to him. I'd said my piece back at the apartment.

I grabbed the small suitcase and proceeded to the room. The motif that Tene had decided on fit the room perfectly. Everything seemed to match, from the purple trim on the curtains to the bedspread, to the throw pillows on the couch.

This was one of the properties that I knew well. There were seven units per floor, and we were ten stories high. Every room had exactly the same furniture in exactly the same spot. I dealt with the condos because those were, in my mother's words, “easier” to take care of. As though I couldn't handle any more than that.

Although this property and another set of condo units down the street were my responsibility, Tene did the decorating, like I couldn't handle making decisions for a property I was in charge of.

A thick cloud of bitterness surrounded me, almost shocking me because I’d had no idea it existed. Why hadn't I realized this before? Had my natural calm nature suppressed all this hidden animosity?

I pushed all the negativity aside and propelled myself facedown onto the bed. My body was surprisingly tired, and all my muscles went limp.

Eight years.

Eight long years with Roland.

Any other man would be begging for his girlfriend back by now, but Roland had too much pride.

I knew in my heart that I couldn’t live like that anymore and fight for an already dead relationship. The realization hit me, directly in my chest—that my dream of forever had ended.

And this was not how I expected my life to turn out.