Page 47 of Breakup Games

“Don’t make me lose my appetite.”

She laughs and reaches for the breadsticks that were just put on the table. “What do you do all day? Like what’s a typical day in the life for you?”

“No two days are the same. Sometimes I’m in the office a lot, going over files, looking at crime scene photos…that sort of thing. Other days I’m out in the field, on active murder investigations. Or I could be under cover, trying to get information. Or maybe I put on my flashy FBI jacket and do a raid. And then there’s the odd days when I sit across from a rather good looking amateur PI and play a game of twenty questions.”

“I asked two. But at least you think I’m good looking.” She dramatically tosses her hair back. Fuck, she’s gorgeous and funny. It’s not a combination you see that often and when you throw in that she’s aware she’s a ten out of ten but is still humble,it makes her all the more attractive as a whole person. “I wanted to be a criminal profiler back in the day.”

“You would have been good at it.” I grab a breadstick and break it in half. “Why didn’t you pursue it?”

She bites her lip and widens her eyes. “I got married and my ex made me feel guilty for having a job that might force me to travel and be away from home. And then…” She shakes her head.

“And then what?” I encourage.

“And then I found out I was pregnant.”

I don’t know how to respond at that moment so I take a bite of my breadstick and wait for her to go on. She doesn’t have a kid and I didn’t see anything in her file about giving one up for adoption.

“I had just graduated with my bachelors. I always wanted my own family.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. One I recognize. She doesn’t think it’ll happen and the pain of letting go of a dream like that hurts. “So I was really excited. But, um, my ex wasn’t, even though he told me he was all on board for trying for a baby, but when it seemed like it was going to become a reality, he was all pissy that he wouldn’t be able to nap after work and he wouldn’t get uninterrupted video game time.”

“I’m really glad you divorced that loser.”

“Phhh, right? Me too.” She picks her breadstick apart, eating little bites at a time.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m an open book. If you watch all my reels and listen to all the podcasts you’ll hear this story. Basically to make a long story short, Cory hated that I was getting extra attention for being pregnant and was so butthurt that his mother was doting on me instead of him. When I was almost eight weeks, we moved into a townhouse that had an upstairs. The shower leaked, which he said was my fault because I took a hot shower and the hot water was too hot for the pipes—okay, loser—but Imopped it all up with towels and then asked him if he could help me carry the laundry basket downstairs since it was heavy with the wet towels.”

I swallow my breadstick, my mouth suddenly dry. Because I know where this story is going.

“He didn’t help and when I was slowly going down one step at a time, he rushed past me, bumped into me, and I fell. I went to the hospital and everything seemed fine, but that night he went into a drunk rampage, screaming at me about how I’m going to be a terrible mom and I don’t care about the baby and how selfish I was for wanting to bring a child into the world…blah blah blah.” She rolls her eyes. “He even said I only wanted a baby so I could stay home all day, not work, and not do housework. I cried all night and went to work exhausted the next day. The baby was okay but I was really sore from falling down the stairs. I came home even more exhausted only to find that Cory had dumped a bag of garbage in my closet, on top of my clean clothes, as a punishment for not finishing all the laundry ‘I started’ the night before.”

“The wet towels.”

“Yep. He screamed at me again then wouldn’t talk to me for two days. Then I had a miscarriage. They can just happen, but my blood pressure was so high, the OB said it was probably from stress.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, wanting to reach out and comfort her as well as find Cory and push him down a flight of stairs.

“It’s okay. It was years ago and in hindsight, it’s good I’m not tired of him in that sense. When the time is right, and I find someone for me, it’ll happen.”

I watch her pick apart her breadstick some more, trying to figure out if she actually believes it or not.

“Anyway…is there any more trauma you want me to dump on you?” She’s back to smiling.

“Hah. I’m done torturing you for today.”

“Good. Though I will say he used to put dirty dishes in my car.”

“The fuck?” My brows go up. “Why?”

“As a punishment for not washing them.”

“Couldn’t he wash dishes?”

Her head bobs up and down in a nod. “Yeah. He could. I don’t want to come across as a bitter ex.”

“You don’t. Some really fucked up shit happened to you and you’ve come out pretty damn strong. And you’re using your story to help others. That’s admirable.”

A bit of color rushes to her cheeks. “Thank you. That’s what we can do right? Don’t shut the door on our past and be ashamed but use it to teach others as well as ourselves?”

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