Page 27 of From Our First

“No, Nathan. I didn’t knowyou.” She looked down at the ring in her palm and then slid hers off her finger. She clutched them both tightly and swallowed hard.

“It’s over, Myra.”

Then she walked out, leaving me thinking maybe I had made a mistake. But, no, I had already made the biggest mistake.

She’d cheated on me. When I trusted her.

But now, she was gone.

We had been too young. Stupid.

And now, we were over.

Chapter 6

Myra

I didmy best not to think about the time before I moved back to Colorado. It was as if I were a different person then. One that had caught a glimpse of freedom and truth but then had the rug ripped out from under my feet.

Nathan hadn’t believed me. After the time we had spent together, the promises we made—even if made hastily—he still hadn’t believed me.

And to this day, I didn’t know why he had so easily parted ways with me. Or how he had delved into those untruths to follow whatever path he felt he needed to in order to push me away.

He might’ve felt as if I had betrayed him then, but I knew it was the opposite. He had so easily believed in my failings, yet he had been the one to fail me in the end.

And now, every time I looked at him, I remembered that time. I remembered the pain and anger.

And I hated myself for it. But not as much as I hated him.

We were trying to get past that. To find common ground where we could act like reasonable adults. But it wasn’t easy. Especially when, every time I looked at him, I remembered what we’d had, and what he had thrown away with his casual cruelty.

I looked down at my canvas and knew that today wasn’t going to be a day for art. Still, I had a commissioned piece coming up that I wanted to focus on, and I needed to get a few sketches down. Later, I could focus on this piece since it was more for fun for an upcoming auction.

I had a showing on my calendar in a few months, and I needed to go through my plans for that, too, but my head wasn’t in the right place.

I loved what I did. It wasn’t what I’d thought to do—or what I’d thought I’d beallowedto do. But once I’d pushed that word from my vocabulary, I had found myself loving what I did even more. Only now, seeing Nathan as much as I had been, routinely pushed me back into the past.

And why did he keep popping back into my mind? I needed to focus on my art, my friends, and anythingbuthim.

The girls were going to set me up on another date soon. With someone that wasn’t my past haunting me. Maybe if I told them why I couldn’t be with Nathan, they would understand. I was just afraid that they would push me away once they learned that I had been hiding such an important fact about myself. I cleaned up my area and then went to the other side of my house that was less studio and a little more me.

I had purchased the place a few years ago when I returned to Colorado. I hadn’t finished my economics degree when I was forced to move back to California. But Ihadgotten a business degree. That way, I could run my business, even if my line of work had nothing to do with what my parents wanted me to do.

I worked hard and fell into thehobbymy mother always joked about. But now I was an artist that people sought out, even if I wasn’t at the highest level of the industry as some around me were. But I would get there. Or I would keep trying until I did.

Because this was my passion. And in a world where people’s passions were pulled from them so they could focus on what others wanted, I knew I was privileged. I knew the only reason I could work as I did and focus on my art and charities was because of my trust fund. It was because of the privilege I had been raised with.

I pulled my hair from the clip at the back of my head, my blond hair brushing the tops of my shoulders. I had recently cut off a few more inches, and I liked the look, even though I kind of missed being able to braid it over my shoulder.

My house had four bedrooms—one I used for an office, a guest bedroom, and a little reading nook I made for myself. The studio attachment had been for another artist who lived here before I bought the place. It had been like kismet when I found the listing, and I had offered the asking price without a second look.

I was lucky, and I loved my home. It was all light colors, creams with greige, reclaimed wood and metal. It was nothing like the ornate opulence and wealth-induced creativity that I had been born into. My parents had never once set foot into this home. They would hate it. That had only beenpartof my decision to buy it. The idea that this place was just me had been the main reason.

I went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water and did my best to calm my nerves so I could focus on what was important. The idea that I was so scatterbrained annoyed me. I wasn’t always like this, and I couldn’t entirely blame Nathan for it.

I looked around the kitchen and frowned. I needed to do another deep clean. A service came in once a month, but since I lived alone and didn’t have pets, I could usually handle everything on my own. It was only when I traveled for work or was busy on a project that I sometimes couldn’t quite keep up. Besides, the company I hired was a group of single moms who got together to help younger moms find a place in the world and finish school.

If I could help others while keeping myself sane and my house clean, all the better.

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