I walk across the street, the lead weight inside of me growing heavier with every single step. I step beneath the awning and shake the rain off my coat before I pull open the door and walk into the waiting area.
Tommy’s is an upscale deli-style restaurant that’s brightly lit and cheery. I’ve only eaten here a couple of times, but I know the food here is quintessentially New York – and delicious. It’s crowded with the lunchtime crowd – there’s nothing but Armani power suits as far as the eye can see. But through the sea of expensive suits, I spot Sawyer and feel my stomach drop.
“Do you have a reservation, miss?”
I turn to see the hostess smiling back at me. I shake my head and try to collect myself quickly.
“No, I’m meeting somebody,” I tell her. “It looks like he’s already here.”
Without waiting for the hostess to reply, I cut my way around the tables, the taste of bile rising in my throat as I draw near the table. Sawyer’s lunchtime guest is a tall, leggy blonde. She’s got flawless tawny skin, honey-colored hair that’s been stylishly cut, eyes that are dark and soulful, and a body that would make even a priest blush. The woman is walking perfection, and every single insecurity or doubt I’ve ever had about myself come rushing to the surface and erupt all over me.
As I stand there, I feel myself quaking. I feel myself growing nauseous and have to fight the urge to flee. I look down at the satchel in my hand and suddenly realize how stupid I’ve been. Sawyer will never go for this plan. How could I have ever thought he would? I place my hand on my stomach, trying to draw strength from the life growing within me – from our child.
But standing there, looking at how cozy Sawyer and this mystery woman look together, smiling and laughing with one another, I feel exposed, scared – and I have no idea what to do. I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life.
Fear and self-loathing rise up in my throat, threatening to pull me under and drown me. That constant well of anger that lives within me overflows, washing away everything else. Soon, I stand there looking at them with a current of intense, white-hot anger running through every cell in my body.
How could he do this to me? Two weeks and he’s moved on already? Was I really that replaceable this whole time? Obviously, Sawyer and I not only see humanity differently, but we also have very different definitions of what love is.
A tear rolls down my cheek. I feel my heart shattering like glass, each shard breaking off inside of me, cutting deeply into my soul. I angrily wipe away the tear and clear my throat. I will not let him see me like this. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears and pain.
Finally, back in control of myself, I stride to the table. Sawyer can’t hide the surprise in his eyes when he sees me but quickly moves to cover it. The woman he’s with eyes me up and down, an amused smirk on her perfectly full, immaculately painted lips. I hate her already.
“Berlin,” he greets me. “What are you doing here?”
I look at the woman and realize I know her from somewhere – but I can’t recall where I’ve seen her before. I’ve probably seen her in some lingerie magazine or a movie or something. I don’t know, and I don’t care. She’s an afterthought to me and isn’t the real issue here. She’s insignificant in this whole mess. It’s not her fault Sawyer is a lying, cheating dog. I turn back to Sawyer, rage and pain burning bright in my eyes.
“Enjoying your lunch, Sawyer?”
He looks at me like he doesn’t know what to say and cuts a look at his companion. She gives him an indulgent smile but can’t hide her sudden flush of awkwardness. I get the impression he never told her we were together.
Shame and embarrassment wrap their cold hands around my heart and squeeze it tight. I fight to keep them from falling, but the tears roll down my cheeks anyway. Sawyer opens his mouth to speak, but I have no desire to hear what he has to say. He’s shown me who he is and what he’s about – and how quickly he can replace me. It makes me as furious as it does nauseous.
Without stopping to think, I grab the glass of wine that’s sitting in front of him and throw it in his face. The wine hits him squarely in the face and staining his once-white shirt. He looks at me with an expression of astonishment on his face, sputtering in shock. I hear the gasps of the patrons around me and feel the weight of their stares, but I don’t care. His companion stares at me, eyes wide, her mouth hanging open, and I flash her a feral smile.
“Enjoy the rest of your lunch,” I hiss.
Turning on my heel, I stride out of the restaurant, feeling the eyes following me. My cheeks are burning with heat, and the tears flow freely down my face, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. I don’t care. All I want in that moment is to get away – to go home and shut myself away from the world.
I make it to the sidewalk and feel the rain splashing down on me. People who are waiting under the awning turn to look at me as I scan the street for a cab.
Suddenly, I feel a hand clamp down on my arm. I spin around, ready to throw a punch, but manage to hold off. But just barely. Sawyer is staring back at me, still wearing that same look
