Page 15 of Shattered Chords

My eyes searched for wrinkles and other signs of aging. There were none. Not yet, anyway. My hair still shone bright, my skin was firm, my breasts were full, and my waist was thin. I liked how I looked. Subtly youthful and classy. I just didn’t like that all the hard work I’d put into my body and mind would be going down the drain in a few years. I had no one to give what I had. I had no one but Ally, who was slipping away like a bird in flight.

At thirty-four, I was still single with a couple of unsuccessful relationships under my belt that had led to nothing but heartache for both of us—me and my daughter. After the second fiasco, I’d decided to stop tormenting her and sworn off dating for good.

That was three years ago.

It’s the wine. Stop with the self-pity already. You’re an independent woman who has everything under control.

Did I, though? Did I have everything under control or was I living my life on autopilot?

The latter notion terrified me.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and repeated my mantra.

I’m strong. I can do this.

Then I went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up to a splitting headache, which had never happened to me after two and half glasses of wine in my twenties. Another subtle sign that time was finally catching up with my body.

The digital clock on my nightstand showed ten to seven. My alarm was usually set for quarter after, but the fight with Ally had kept me tossing and turning all night, and there was no point in milking these useless minutes.

I scrambled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and slipped into my running clothes. The house was warm, but not hot enough to turn on the AC just yet. The weather app on my phone, however, promised a long-overdue heatwave would kick in by the end of the week.

I felt the approach of high temperatures the moment I stepped outside. Though the fresh breeze caressed my skin, the air was thick and sizzled inside my lungs as I drew a deep breath and began my run. Sweat broke beneath my T-shirt almost instantly.

Unlike Ally, I didn’t have the need to compliment my physical activities with music. I preferred to soak in the unadulterated sounds of nature and the suburban hum of the neighborhood. I liked waving hello at the scurrying passersby, and I liked smiling to get a smile in return. The distant rumble of the freeway and the chirping of the birds made me feel connected to the city.

People were ready to leave for work as I ran along my usual route. Their cars pulled out of tree-lined driveways. Their coffee-stimulated voices meshed with the roar of engines. Six blocks later, the end of the street ribboned into a small park where I normally did five or six loops before jogging back home. This had been my morning routine ever since we’d moved into the house seven years ago.

Running cleared my mind and fueled my body. It was more than a healthy choice. Plenty of great ideas came to me during my exercise. For some, showers worked best. But for me, nothing could compare to the adrenaline rush from the wind on my face and aching ankles.

Pain reminded me that I was alive.

The crooked mountaintops stood dark and proud against the backdrop of the sky as I padded down the zigzagging path. At this hour, the park was still empty and peaceful. No strollers, no toddlers, no teenagers with their phones. No shirtless men showing off their hot bodies. The morning was innocent just like the dew that covered the grass and the sun that slowly crept up from behind the leafy tree limbs.

By eight thirty, I was showered and dressed for work, and my coffee waited for me in the kitchen. Dream Bride didn’t open for business until ten, but Mondays were always busy and I liked to be there early.

Purse slung over my shoulder, I stood outside Ally’s room and contemplated. She was self-sufficient and had been taking care of her own meals and laundry since she turned thirteen, but her words from last night weighed on my shoulders. I felt like a failure of a mother, and the thought of leaving without saying goodbye rattled me.

After a long moment, I willed myself to knock on her door. “Ally, I’m going to work.”

No answer.

“There’s fresh orange juice in the fridge.”

Silence.

“Ally?”

“Okay. Bye,” a sleepy groan finally responded.

Well, at least she’s at home and not at some guy’s place having sex with a condom, a voice in my head said with a bitter laugh while I walked outside.

Seeing Harper’s Jaguar parked in his usual spot at the rear of the building when I arrived at Dream Bride puzzled me. Mondays were his day off.

Grabbing my purse and my coffee, I slid from my car and hurried toward the entrance. As always at the beginning of the week, the back lot buzzed. Delivery trucks lined the alley behind the shopping center and plagued the air with thick clouds of exhaust fumes.

Inside, soft music played in the background. I dropped my purse in my office and headed to the main floor, where Harper was fussing over the lingerie section. He wore his usual—fitted dress slacks and a suit jacket. A silk scarf was wrapped around his neck, and today, his color of choice was burgundy. Very bold. Ready for war. However, his face—specifically the dark shadows beneath his baby blue eyes—told a different story. Take away all the layers of fashion statements and attitude, and he was anything but a warrior. More like a wreck.

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