She was wearing jeans and a hoodie the second time and was walking with Declan, his arm around her shoulders, and she was tucked into his side, her arm around his waist, holding on to him like her life depended on it. It stung to see them together, but I had to keep reminding myself that they were divorcing and were probably preparing to go their separate ways.
After that, I never saw her again and stopped being a creep and hanging outside her building. Instead, I’ve sent her flowers. Every day for two weeks straight, I had flowers—a dozen red roses—delivered to her condo. Each time with the same handwritten note:I’m sorry.
There is so much more I need to say to her, but I am not going to say all I need to say on a note. I had hoped she’d call me and give me the chance to tell her everything I need to say either over the phone or face-to-face.
Whenever my phone pinged, I hoped it was her… it never was.
One drunken night, I decided to man the fuck up and call her, only to immediately hear the robotic voice tell me the call was unable to be completed.
She blocked me. Camille blocked my number.
I even emailed her, only to discover she blocked my email address as well.
She had blocked me from her life completely.
Desperate to find out anything, I asked my mom if she’d heard from her, but she was tight-lipped and wouldn’t tell me anything. Something was going on, it was clear that my mother knew, which wasn’t surprising since she’s been best friends with Cam’s mother since college, plus they’re neighbors.
I called her office. The receptionist told me she was on a leave of absence and would pass on a message when she returned.
She was going to great lengths to keep me away, but I only had myself to blame.
That was three weeks ago.
Since then, I've stopped everything. Stopped sending flowers, quit trying to contact her, and stopped asking her family about her. I quit all stalking cold turkey.
I believe she will return to me when she’s ready but needs her space until then. I let her go once eleven years ago, and I won’t make the same mistake again. Space isn't the same as letting go.
I’m sitting in my home office staring at my computer screen, reading over an email from a potential client. My mind is elsewhere, and I can barely focus; I’ve had to reread the email six times already, still not comprehending what the hell it says.
This is how I’ve been lately. Unable to focus.
Deciding to give up and call it a night, I let out a sigh and lock my computer just as Karina walks into my office with a hand on her small, barely there baby bump.
“You left your phone in the kitchen. It won't stop beeping,” she says with an eye roll. “You changed your password, so I can't even check it to make it stop.” She tosses the phone on my desk with a thud. I changed my password weeks ago when I caught her snooping on it while I was in the shower.
Without saying anything, I reach a hand forward toward the phone and pick it up, entering my passcode to see that I have three unread messages. I ignore two of them, the ones from old high school buddies I’d recently reconnected with who were trying to meet up.
My heart skips a beat when I see the name and read the contents of the message the third person sent me. Taking a sharp breath, I lock it again and look up at Karina, already standing up from my chair. “Thanks. I’m going out. Be back later,” I say, brushing past her as I exit my office and walk off toward the guest room that has become my bedroom.
Karina doesn’t say anything, not that I care what she has to say anyway. Nothing will stop me from running out the door and getting to where I need to be.
After dressing in joggers and a T-shirt, I shove my wallet, phone, and keys into my pocket and leave our house, walking down the long driveway and toward the road.
It takes me about ten minutes running to get to the nearest park. It’s dark out, the air chilly, and the full moon is bright and high in the sky, providing enough lighting to see where I’m going. The park isn’t well lit; it only has one streetlight that glows a soft yellow. But, with that and the moon, it’s enough to see her.
She’s sitting on a picnic table, her back toward me, her head hung low. As if she can sense my presence, her head snaps up, and her posture straightens as if she’s preparing for battle and putting her mask back in place to protect herself.
My heart is racing in my chest, my lips part as I breathe heavy, my palms are clammy. I’ve been waiting for two months to be this close to her and hear her voice again, and I’m going to finally, fucking finally, get my wish.
On shaky legs, I rush toward her until I’m standing right in front of her.
Her bright emerald eyes look directly at me, her stare is cold, and anger radiates from her. I can physically feel what she feels. My heart breaks at the sight of her. She’s got bags under her hollow eyes, and her jawline is sharper, her cheekbones more prominent. It’s clear that she’s lost weight, though she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever fucking laid eyes on.
“Oh, Cam, I’m so fucking sorry.” I sigh, taking a step closer and reaching my arms out for her. She hurries back from where she’s sitting on the table, recoiling from my attempt to touch her. A frown finds my lips as I drop my hands, shoving them into the pockets of my joggers.
“I just want to know one thing. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” She crosses her arms over her chest, holding herself tightly as if she’s trying to protect herself. “Why didn’t you tell me yourself? You could’ve saved me the embarrassment of finding out from her.” Her words are laced with pure malice.
What the fuck is she talking about?