Page 73 of Heartless

I’m nobody’s fool, O. I know that I’m not the only one. I saw the text messages between the two of you.

My inaction on our marriage and your dissatisfaction has driven you to seek comfort outside of our vows. I read those messages between you and Sharla.

That explains why you were so indifferent when you returned and when I proposed that I would work on the marriage with you. You had already crossed the line and couldn’t turn back.

So much pain and anger flared inside of me when I read that. It hurt me so badly.

I need time to heal. Maybe one day I can forgive you, but not now.

You were the only man I’ve ever loved and all I ever wanted.

I need time and space to figure some things out. Don’t look for me. I’ll come to you when I’m ready.

MJ

My hands tremble as I stare at the letter. I blow out a breath of frustration. The tears flow freely down my face, and I don’t stop them. Instead, I bawl like a baby.

I’ve been so fucking foolish. I just lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

***

I glance up when I hear a knock at my office door. Sharla’s standing there with a folder and two cups of coffee in a tray. The clock on my computer shows that it’s a few minutes after five.

Meadow has been gone for two weeks, and my life is on hold.

“Come in,” I say.

She steps inside a few steps before I say, “Would you close the door, please?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean...”

“You’re right. Come in and push the door slightly closed,” I instruct her.

This time, Sharla does as I ask before joining me on the couch beside the large picture window overlooking downtown Charleston.

“These are the specs that you asked for from Janice. She didn’t have a chance to pull them all together before leaving for vacation, but I gathered them and reviewed them twice.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the folder from her hand.

Our fingertips brush, and I jerk my hand back as if scalded.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

“You’re fine. I’m just unfocused.”

“You have been for the last week. Is everything okay?”

I’ve been avoiding Sharla; not asking her to be in on meetings and always finding something to do when she needs to speak with me.

“Um, yes,” I lie.

With a long fingernail, she points at the folder.

“Do you care to review that so that we can discuss a different set of numbers? The current ones don’t work well for the project guidelines.”

“Yeah, let’s,” I say, thankful for the change of subject.

We order dinner to be served to us by the time seven rolls around because it’s clearly going to be a long night. We both remain focused on the work that lies ahead of us but lose track of time and before I know it, the clock shows that it’s a little after ten at night.

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