Nothing.
It was her final day of work and she pulled on a tight skirt, and a dark blouse, and somehow she felt strong.
But also sad.
Especially when she saw some drooping tulips in the window of the local florist.
They look like me...
There was a place inside her that could never quite be healed. This loss hurt more than anything else ever had, and she hoped she would never hurt more, but she was above all tough.
And she was loved.
Mrs Hunt was dabbing her eyes. She knew the decision to let Violet go had been impossible.
‘Don’t cry.’ She hugged her wonderful boss. ‘I’m going to be fine.’
Her heart was pummelled but her spirit was strong. She’d ended the lease on her flat, applied for new and exciting jobs, and made Persian Love Cake for her own party.
She even gave a little speech.
‘I don’t want to leave, but the truth is if I hadn’t been pushed I’d never have gone,’ Violet said. ‘Which means I’d have ended up watching you all leave...’
It wasn’t a very good speech, but today it was the best she could do.
‘I love you all—and thank you.’
And that was that.
She dragged the ladder to the poetry section, determined to find something at least similar to the book Anousheh had had.
She couldn’t find anything like it, though, and close to tears, halfway up the ladder, she felt herself sway slightly.
‘Careful.’
She felt hands on her hips, and any other touch would have made her jump. But never his. Always his touch felt steadying, as if it were a part of her...as if it was helping her right herself.
‘Slowly,’ Sahir said, guiding her down the steps and turning her to face him. ‘You are very pale.’
‘I’ve been on a diet.’
‘Diet?’ He frowned. ‘Why?’
‘A health kick.’
‘So healthy you faint up ladders?’ he scolded.
He was all shaved and suited, and she had to force herself to look at him. ‘I didn’t take those jewels.’
‘I know that.’
She blinked.
‘Had you not dumped your phone, you’d know that.’
‘I honestly didn’t—’
‘Violet, stop. I’m not here about that. I would like to invite you to dinner.’