Page 66 of Rainstorm

Chapter 15

Rose

Present day

The hardest part about starting a new life is when you don’t want to do it.

When the plans you’d always envisioned are the total opposite of what you’re being forced to do.

When it’s the last thing you wanted, but fucking life is giving you no choice in the matter.

When you have to put your memories behind you in order to start over, and focus on a blurry vision of the future.

It hurts so much to live without a heart, without a dream, without hope.

Chase stole all of that from me.

Now I’m like the Tin Man on the yellow brick road in The Wizard of Oz. Like him I have no heart and no strength.

And yet here I am, about to face the first day of my new job at Oliver Nichols’s agency.

If I were still living my previous life, Chase would be taking a shower while I’d be getting ready to go out, smiling as I planned one of my never ending DIY projects. Chase used to grumble about me starting a new one before I’d finished the last one. We’d argue, then end up making out on the living room carpet, sex and sweat mingling as we got lost in each other.

Happy times.

If I were still living that life, things would be very different.

But in spite of everything, I’m holding my head up high and coping by taking one day at a time.

When I look in the mirror, I can see that I’ve aged a good ten years, the weight of my existence crushing me, my weary bones about to crumble.

Yet here I am, getting ready for whatever life deigns to throw at me next. Probably best I have no fucking idea what that’ll be.

I once thought that I was like an oak tree, big and solid to make it through the hard times. Now I know that I would rather be like bamboo, flexing in the wind and remaining upright however strong the wind blows.

“Are you nervous?” Ariel asks at the breakfast table, staring at what I’m wearing, which with her eclectic tastes I'm sure she finds rather conservative. But I feel professional and businesslike in my black tailored slacks, crisp white blouse and black wedge heels. I have my hair in a high ponytail and I’m not wearing heavy make-up, just a little lipstick and of course, concealer.

“Don’t remind me, I’m trying not to be,” I sigh. “I’d better get going since it’s rush hour. I don’t want the freeway traffic making me late and Encinitas is a way from Downtown.

As I make my way out to my car, I give myself a little pep talk. I’m not the first woman whose husband has asked for a divorce and I certainly won’t be the last. If they can get over it, so can I. I’m a strong, independent woman after all.

My motto of the day will be: I can do this. I will do this.

Then I face the first test of my resolve. Talk about timing. I see my husband, or rather, my soon-to-be-ex-husband slowly walking out to his car.

I freeze to the spot when he looks over at me.

His eyes burn, yet his body language tells a different story.

He looks defeated.

Regretful.

Hurt.

Crushed.

All the same feelings I’m experiencing.

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