Chapter 4

When the men are done, Mathews turns to me at the door, ushering his man out, and gives me a paternal, warm, sympathetic smile.

“Miss. Anderson, Mr. Carrero asked me to give you this.” His steady gaze takes in the flicker of emotions across my face as he holds out the long slender cream envelope with my name on the front and Jake’s achingly bold and beautiful handwritten script. My heart pangs and contracts at the sight of it. I instantly bite my lip to quell the tears. The heavy swallowing to calm my emotions doesn’t go unnoticed. He gives me a sympathetic look, sliding the envelope into my palm with a brief pat on my shoulder and a nod.

“He loves you, ma’am. Men are idiots when it comes to love and relationships. We all make mistakes. Just don’t dismiss all you have without really thinking things through. You are his universe, Miss. Anderson.”

An interesting observation from a man who sees so much and yet is only a mere brief presence in our lives.

He smiles at me gently, and I nod too, ignoring that tug in my throat that aches so badly. Tears pool in the back of my eyes, my throat throbbing.

“Please tell Jake I need time alone. I’m grateful for my things, Mr. Mathews, and thank you, really.” I smile emptily.

He understands I’m dismissing him before I fall apart because even hearing Jake’s name brings an unbearable agony that cuts through my core. He nods and says a small farewell before leaving, pulling the door closed behind him.

I stand stiff and numb, staring at the door handle for a few moments, lost in an empty daydream before my head snaps into focus, and I stare down at the letter in my hand. I’m grasping it so tightly I’ve put a wrinkle across its smooth surface.

I walk to the couch and sit down, holding the letter in front of me as though it’s some foreign object I don’t recognize and don’t know what to do with. I sit for the longest time and stare, my heart beating through my chest, my breathing labored.

His neat, beautiful writing scrapes at what’s left of my strength, knowing whatever is inside has the power to fuel another onslaught of tears, sobs, and crushing pain that I’m just not ready for. I get up, walk to my room, and slide it in front of the mirror on my vanity instead. I need time - time to get myself together before I read it.

Jake kissed someone else, Marissa, of all people! Will I ever be ready to face that?

To some, the act is excusable, maybe even understandable, considering everything that went on leading up to it. I can’t change how irreversibly it has hurt me. It’s about trust, betrayal, and security. He did something as painful as full-on sex. He touched her and gave her something that should only belong to me from the second he gave me his heart, regardless of his pain. He gave his touch to someone he knew would crush me. The woman he will be tied to for an eternity because of her unborn child. I know drunk Jake can be irrational and impulsive, fueled by rage, but a part of me shakes its head sadly.

If he loved me, he wouldn’t have been able to throw me aside so carelessly and cruelly, turning to that woman and doing something so vindictive.

Maybe this is what I deserve in life. Perhaps this is my retribution because of the insecure, afraid, emotional, weird mess that I am who pushed him away for so long, even though I’ve no doubt that Jake loves me. I’ve seen it so many times in the ways he’s changed his life for me. I do not doubt that he regrets what he’s done. I would be blind not to see it written all over him, but it’s not any of that which holds me here.

It’s knowing I may never be able to trust him again, letting my insecurities expand beyond control, knowing I’ll always be second-guessing him anytime he leaves me alone. Always doubting if he has unresolved feelings for Marissa. He showed me that all men, even the ones who love you, can still crush you so easily. It’s a black mark in our almost perfect union, a hideous, ugly scar, forever there between us.

I know I have blame in this too. Maybe that’s why I can’t hate him, and maybe it’s why even as I’m dying inside, all I want is him. The source of my pain is my only cure, and as much as I hate what he’s done, as much anger and hurt there is inside me, I can’t stop pining for him. It makes me more messed up in the head and unable to get my thoughts straight.

***

I spend the next several days locked in my solitude, leaving only to buy groceries and then returning home. I’ve mindlessly sat through so many hours of daytime TV and horrible romantic movies that make me want to throw books at the screen. Sarah should be back soon, and I don’t want her to see what I’ve become; some slobbish, tear-stained mess of a girl living in a sea of junk food, chocolate wrappers, and screwed-up tissues.

Classy look, Emma; really holding yourself together, aren’t you?

After a much-needed pep talk and a long agonizing look in the mirror, I am finally so sick of my depressive mood and disgusting behavior. I force myself to get up and stop moping around like a broken-hearted zombie, doing anything to stop mulling it over in my brain.

I busy myself with cleaning the apartment, wiping away hours of lying around sobbing into tissues, and eating carbs. I can’t bear to look at the endless sea of clothes on my floor, all tied viciously to memories of him. I need to get myself together and show Sarah I can be who I used to be. I can pretend to be in control for her sake by looking as I should and having our home as neatly kept as we usually do. I won’t inflict this person I’ve become on her when she returns. I’m ashamed of who she is.

I have texts from him and emails, all unopened. The bunches of flowers and expensive gifts sent to my door were all turned away. Jake’s trying so hard to reach through my wall of silence and contact me, but as I told him on every returned gift card:

Leave me be. Give me time.