Page 71 of Ripple Effect

I run my fingers through my hair, glancing around the familiar space. The morning sun pours in, but it feels empty, hollow now. It’s the same sunlight, the same apartment, but without Daisy here, it’s bound to feel different.

She stands near the window, taking in the view one last time.

“You sure you’ve got everything?” I ask, my voice hushed, subdued.

“Yeah, got it all.”

She turns to face me, and a quiet, unmistakable tear wells in the corner of her eye.

“Hey.” My brow furrows as I step toward her, thumb swiping along her cheekbone. “Don’t do that, not now. This is going to be a good thing for both of us.”

“Good, how?”

“For you, it means being able to put yourself first again,” I say, pulling her closer. “And for me, it means I’m well enough to be able to take care of myself now. To trust that my new medication will keep me steady enough to be on my own.”

According to my one-week follow-up appointment, Dr. Foster says that I’m doing well. That I’m adjusting appropriately to the medications. That I’ve had no abnormal heart rate spikes or arrhythmias for the last week.

That, from now on, our follow-ups will be regular monthly visits. And then, I’ll work up to a point where he’s comfortable with me coming in every three to six months, and then eventually, just once per year.

These are short, measurable goals for me to work up to. A visible, achievable light at the end of a long tunnel. And, I have to admit, it’s been more than a relief to finally have these concrete answers.

“I know,” she murmurs, that single tear welling over and spilling onto her cheek. “I’m so happy for you. But if it’s such a great thing, then why does it feel like the end of something and not the beginning?”

“You know, you’re really pretty when you cry.” I tilt her chin up, slanting a smile at her outraged expression. “And endings aren’t always a bad thing.”

She gulps. “But won’t you miss me at all?”

“Daze—” I clear my throat, softly rubbing the tear away. “I don’t often say the right thing. In fact, I rarely do. But you should know that I’ll miss you so fucking much. Everything about you living here. I won’t forget what it’s been like—to have you taking care of me, watching out for me, just ... being here with me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not taking it for granted. Not for a second.”

“See.” She sniffles, practically melting in my arms. “That was such a nice thing to say.”

I snort a laugh. “Yeah. For you, I try.”

“I really like it when you try.”

“Me too.” I reluctantly pull away from her and blow out a heavy, centering breath. “Well, we should get you back to your apartment now. We’ve both got classes.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t act like I’ll never see you again.”

“We should go to the Seashell first, shouldn’t we?” she asks, turning on her heel, blatantly ignoring my words. “Bring Bentley along. Get us some nice, warm tea?”

“Prolonging this won’t help.”

She visibly deflates. “Fine. Push me out of here, why don’t you?”

“Come on.” I sling a few of her bags over my shoulder, patting Bentley on the head before I move to the door. “I’ll get this stuff out to your car. You can say your goodbyes without me watching over you. Just meet me down there in a few minutes, okay?”

I swing the door open, kicking her suitcase over the threshold. Before it closes behind me, she calls out one last argument, one last parting word. I ignore the sound, carrying on down to the parking lot alone.

The truth is, I’m a bit miserable that she’s leaving me. I’m putting on a good show because I don’t want this to feel like the end of the road. I want her to feel good about the change. I want her to feel relieved, content that she can go back to her own place and start building on her new life.

A life where she can pursue her passions without Logan, without anyone, standing in the way.

She takes about ten minutes to meet me down by her car, and by that time, I have everything packed up in her trunk. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and the fact that she was crying up there breaks my heart a little bit more.

“Hope you didn’t get those tears all over my dog,” I say in a low voice. “He’s sensitive.”

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