"But you hurt my daughter," I said, venom in my voice. "You left and left it to me to explain why you were suddenly gone. I was the one who had to look her in the face and tell her that you were gone. I was the one who had to answer her questions: Why? Where? How come he didn't say goodbye? I was the one who had to find answers when there were no answers to find."
I tried to blink away the image of those wide green eyes staring up at me as I fidgeted with the note Michael left, my fingers getting stained by the cheap blue ink of the motel pen. I did that, I’d thought. I brought Zara that unnecessary pain. I allowed Michael back into our lives. That was my mistake. So as much as I was angry with Michael, I was doubly angry with myself. Michael had no responsibility to Zara.
I did.
A tear streaked down my cheek and I didn't move to wipe it away. I felt broken.
"Abbi," Michael said, moving to step toward me. He saw the flash of daggers in my eyes and stopped to remain where he was. "Abbi, I'm sorry. I'm so sor—"
"No," I said, another tear falling. "No you're not, Michael. So please, just please don't."
"But I—"
"Look, I only came in today to gather my things and give you my notice, effective immediately."
"Abbi—"
"I've already emailed HR," I said, retreating into the safety of numbed emotions. "I'm sure they'll have a new personal assistant all set up for you by tomorrow. I assume you can survive till then."
Michael shook his head, ready to protest. He didn't know he was fighting against gravity itself. And I didn't mean me. I meant him. Michael O'Sullivan was who he was. He was never going to change, no matter how hard he thought he might. I had finally seen that. I wasn't sure he ever would.
"Abbi, don't do this," Michael was saying. "Let's go get a coffee and talk and—"
"I don't want to see you again," I interrupted.
I'd watched Michael negotiating enough times to mimic his own tactics. I was listing my terms and they were unwavering. I was in the position of power and it didn't matter that it was lonely and cold and barren, all that mattered was I was the one atop the hill.
I could hear Michael's stern business-like voice he used to intimidate his competitors as I said, "You will not see my daughter again."
"Abbi!" Michael burst out in protest.
He advanced toward me again, but I held out my open hand.
"I don't want Zara to know what it feels like to be abandoned," I said. "Especially not by the ones she loves."
These lasts words of mine seemed to paralyse Michael. I strode toward the door of his office. He did not follow to prevent me from leaving.
"I wish you the best of luck, Michael," I said with my hand on the door handle. "I really do hope you find what you're looking for one day."
I looked over my shoulder and the flicker of hope across Michael's distraught face wrenched at my heart. But I wasn't second-guessing anything, not anymore. Having remembered the credit card he left with his note back at the motel outside Albuquerque, I fished it out of my purse and extended it toward him.
His eyes were a question as he wordlessly took it.
"No," I said, my voice lifeless. "I didn't use it."
Michael looked down at the card, small in his open palm. He saw a key to the world lying before him. I saw nothing but a piece of plastic.
"That was never what I wanted," I said.
His office door closed behind me with a small click. At my desk, I finished putting my succulent plant into my cardboard box. After readjusting my purse on my shoulder, I hoisted it up and walked toward the elevators.
I turned the corner and Michael did not come after me.
I reached the elevators and I did not see him running down the hallway.
The doors closed and I was alone.
He was not in the lobby downstairs.
He was not breathless and panting and pinching a stitch in his side by my car.
He was not waiting for me at my apartment, barring the door till I gave him another chance.
As foolish, as stupid, as self-destructive as it would have been, I thought I just might. I just might give him another chance if he simply showed up. I was that in love with him. But Michael did not show up. Michael did not come after me.
So I unlocked my apartment, closed the blinds in my bedroom, slipped beneath the dark, cool covers and set an alarm for an hour. An hour to cry, an hour to curl up into a ball, an hour to let my heart bleed.
That would leave me just enough time to dry my eyes before Zara arrived home from school and I had to pretend that everything was okay when it wasn't.
It wasn't.
Michael
The door clicked shut behind Abbi. My first instinct was to run after her.
I lunged toward the door with every intention of doing just that. I got as far as wrapping my trembling fingers around the door handle. As I stood there, frozen save for the painful racing of my heart, I tried to think of what I would say to her.
There, alone in my office, I imagined a hundred different scenarios. I would run out into the hallway and shout her name. I would catch up with her and sweep her into my arms. I would block her path to the elevator. I would race down the stairs to stop her before she got into her car. I would
