When I finally look at the clock, two hours have passed and I’ve accomplished a lot. I crunched numbers with an intensity I haven’t felt in a long time. I’m ready for tomorrow.

As I step into my room, all the confidence I built up working over the past few hours vanishes. I look around, feeling uncomfortable and ashamed. It looks like a disaster zone in here. This isn’t me. I’ve always been neat and organized, ready to tackle the world. But the person living here is anything but that. My side table is covered in dirty dishes, piles of clothes are scattered everywhere, the trashcan is overflowing with tissues, and empty ice cream containers and candy wrappers litter the floor. Is this what I’ve become?

Feeling determined to pull myself together and start rebuilding my life, I begin cleaning up my room, finding my strength through cleanliness and organization. Sometimes putting things in their rightful place is therapeutic. Right now, it’s giving me some small measure of control. The hurt and pain are still there, but I need to put this behind me. I need to move on.

Today has reminded me that the life I thought I had and the man I thought I loved aren’t things I should want anymore. The future I dream of doesn’t look like this. It’s full of devotion and happiness, not sadness and betrayal. I deserve more. Silently, I promise myself to guard my heart from now on. Love is a gift, and I will not give it freely to anyone.

Just as I’m thinking this, I accidentally knock over a frame, which crashes to the ground. Though the glass doesn’t shatter, when I pick it up I see a huge crack down the center between Neil’s face and mine. Broken—like we are. It’s the photo from our first anniversary. I’m clinging to his back and he’s looking adoringly at me with a huge smile on his face. We were so happy and in love. It shone through our eyes as we laughed at whatever joke we shared. We were always playful and silly in the beginning—he brought that out in me. But at some point it stopped. We went from happy to comfortable, and then he made his choices.

I can’t keep thinking about this. All I want is freedom from him and this idea of what our relationship was or could have been. Alone in my room, I let it all go. Silent rivers of tears stream down my face as the weight of the last three months comes crashing around me. All the lies, hurt, and infidelity, the broken promises … it’s destroyed a part of me. I know that even when I’m fully over everything, there’s a part of my heart that will never be repaired. There’s a fissure that will always be there, a wound that will one day heal and scar over, but it will never be forgotten.

Grabbing an empty box, I start to place the pictures and the memories that accompany them away. I’ll never heal if I keep pretending he’ll come back. I glance at our engagement photo. It’s amazing the difference between this picture and our first anniversary shot. He’s not looking at me like he did in the first photo. In this one he’s barely smiling—his eyes look empty, as though he’s looking past me, not at me. Why didn’t I ever notice that? I was so blinded by my need to be loved that I overlooked the truths that were staring at me every day.

Intent on putting things away, I eye the jewelry box that holds my engagement ring. Tentatively, I open the lid and stare at the shiny diamond nestled in the ring slot. I place it on my finger one last time, and the light creates prisms that bounce off the walls as I twist it around. Tears continue, but instead of feeling weighted by them, I feel as though each one is cleansing me. Reluctantly, I take it off my finger and tuck it back in the ring slot. Back in the box that I received from the other man in my life that I wasn’t enough for. I pull out my “Fuck You” ring that I purchased for myself with Neil’s money and slide it on my finger. Even though the purpose of the ring was to distract me from Neil and my empty ring finger, when I look at it now I remember Neil. I don’t want to remember anymore. I take the sapphire ring off, placing it next to my engagement ring. They are a symbol of the past going where it needs to go—away.

While I’m clearing out my heart, I decide that my father’s last gift and the belongings inside it need to be put to rest. These are two men who’ve caused me tremendous pain—their love was tainted, if it ever was love, and I have no room for it anymore.

Glancing around the room, feeling better about the way it looks, I grab the jewelry box representing my father and Neil and place it on the top shelf in my closet. Staring at the ornate box for a moment, I allow a few final tears to fall as I say good-bye. Then I close my closet door and lie in bed, noticing as I drift off to sleep how my heart feels lighter and how breathing isn’t quite as hard as it has been.

Chapter Six

The alarm blares at six the next morning. I roll over, hit the off button, and shuffle into the kitchen to start my Keurig. It’s amazing how much better I feel after having a night of restful sleep. Grabbing my cup of coffee, I head to my desk to prepare for my phone call with the people from Raven.

With coffee in hand, I fire up my laptop and get to work. The new email alert sounds off so long that it almost seems as if I’ve held my finger down on a keyboard for a minute or so. Great. I’m out of the office half a day and I have over one hundred new emails. I skim through and see a few new possible client assignments that look promising and one that I’d love to grab if Raven Cosmetics doesn’t work out. I open the email from Taylor, which goes over the details for today’s call, and see that she’s attached a few files with updated sales figures for the company. They show a small decline from last month’s figures but nothing too drastic.

After going through the remainder of my emails and taking care of some mundane things around the house, the conference call reminder pops up on my phone. Dialing in, I mentally prepare myself to hear Piper’s and Neil’s voices so I won’t be blindsided by them. I hear the beep and announce my name and company.

“Hello, Ms. Pope. This is Danielle.”

“Good morning, Danielle. I hope your morning is good so far.”

“Yes, thank you. We appreciate you fitting us in last-minute,” she replies.

“As I promised in our meeting, I haven’t taken on any other accounts in hopes that you’ll select CJJ to represent you,” I say, projecting my strength through the phone.

“I’m glad to hear that. After we conclude our call, we have a call scheduled with Boyce PR. Mr. Cole should be on in about two minutes. We were advised by Piper of her opinion, and we want to be one hundred percent sure we choose the right person.”

“I understand completely. Do you have anything you’d like me to clear up prior to Mr. Cole joining us?” I ask earnestly.

“Our questions this morning will focus on you and your company. I think either company would provide a similar approach, but we would like to know more about you since you would be the person primarily responsible for ensuring clear and consistent branding. Also, I wanted to let you know that I’m not an assistant—I’m actually the director of product development. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest, but I wanted to get a feel for both you and Neil without either of you being influenced by my title.”

“Honestly, Danielle, I never believed you were an assistant, but thank you for being frank.” I let out a short laugh. “I assure you—”

A tone cuts me off, alerting us that someone has joined the call.