Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
My tired body gives in and I find myself drifting to sleep.
He kisses my neck and shoulder and doesn’t stop rubbing me until I fall over the edge of slumber and sink into a dreamland full of happy thoughts and a hopeful future.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I forever amuse him.
When I woke up around two minutes ago, the last thing I expected to find was an empty apartment. Ezra always wakes me before he leaves, that’s if he leaves before me which isn’t exactly often. In fact, from memory it has been three times.
A feeling of dread sinks in as I call out his name from the bedroom and get no answer.
I clamber to my feet, getting tangled in the duvet. Reaching for my gown, I stumble a little and right myself, praying he appears in the doorway with mussed hair and a handsome smile.
“EZRA?” I call for the fifth time, checking the bathroom and then looking around for some clue as to where he could be. His power cord is still there but he has fifty of the things so that’s not much of a tell.
I pick up my phone but have received no messages or calls.
“Babe?” I call again, padding into the dark hall, it’s only three in the morning. I baulk at the time, I thought it was later than that. We have blackout blinds, so I often wake in the dark feeling disoriented.
Where is he?
I shout for him again and check the spare room and his office. His laptop is gone. His briefcase has also gone.
His favorite shoes are gone.
He’s gone.
I try to rationalize it, but I can’t. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere without letting me know first. And after last night I just know that something isn’t right here. The way he cried, the way he held me… was he saying goodbye?
I hiccup, fighting the urge to sob.
I’m jumping to conclusions.
I find his name in my contacts and get ready to call him, begging silently that he answers. Meanwhile I take another look around the apartment. I don’t want to seem overbearing and I’m also terrified of what he’ll say if he does answer.
Then I see something resting on his pillow, something I didn’t see in the dark. It’s a note. My heart soars. There it is, his explanation. I bet there was an emergency and he had to go and just didn’t want to disturb my slumber.
I unfold it… I read it… I crumple it with a choked sob in a tight fist.
I’m a coward, I couldn’t look into your eyes while I broke both of our hearts.
I love you. I am so sorry.
Ezra.
I remain in a catatonic state, feeling my brain cells burst with pain. I resist the urge to pass out while fighting the urge to vomit.
He’s just got cold feet. That’s all it is.
I’m a risk, not a guarantee… his wife is a guarantee. That’s all it is.
I’m starting to feel hysterical.
I call his phone again and receive a robotic voice, “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
My hands are shaking so wretchedly the phone falls from my hands. No. This isn’t right. He wouldn’t do this. He promised.
HE PROMISED!
He wouldn’t just make love to me and leave me.
He wouldn’t leave me a note knowing I’ll never be able to erase it from memory. I can even count the lines on the paper, there are thirty-six of them, a multiple of six, a cruel joke to go with his abandonment.
Story of my life.
I send him a text, knowing he won’t get it, begging him to call me.
Then I pace, and click my fingers, unable to stop as my heart thuds so painfully I worry it might burst with each throb.
My feet ache, my thighs throb, the skin on my fingers blister as I fight to snap out of my compulsion. In the end I scream and collapse onto my knees, trying to breathe through the pain. I trusted him. I was so sure.
My alarm sounds, it’s seven, I’m supposed to be at work.
Should I go? Will he be there?
I have to go.
I shower twice, I dress and undress and then dress again. I do my makeup but then wipe it off because I just can’t with that today.
Then I head to work, taking Ezra’s car that he loaned to me, wondering how long until he kicks me out of this apartment that I’ve made home.
He needs to give me more than just a note.
To say I’m quick on my feet would be an understatement. I get to our floor knowing he won’t be here because his car wasn’t in his spot. I push open the door anyway and almost sink to my knees when I see the man he hired as his fill-in in his seat, on the phone.
“Miss Sinclair,” he says, smiling gently. His eyes hold a sadness to them that has me on edge. “You’re early.”