Page 76 of After Everything
I had work to do. Cases to prepare. Clients who needed me.
A life to keep building, one day at a time.
Whether or not that life would ever include Emma again, I didn't know. But I'd told her the truth. Apologized without asking for anything in return. Given her everything she'd needed to hear.
The rest was up to her.
And that was exactly how it should be.
CHAPTER 25: EMMA
Imade it home in a daze.
Walked through my apartment door, dropped my keys on the counter, stood in the middle of my living room for a full minute just staring at nothing.
Then I changed into running clothes.
I'd already done five miles this morning, part of my normal Saturday routine. But I pulled on my shorts and laced up my shoes anyway, hands moving on autopilot. My legs were going to hate me for this.
I was out the door before I could think too hard about why.
The park trail was three blocks from myapartment. I started at a jog, then pushed into a run. Then a sprint.
My lungs burned My legs were protesting, my calves tight, but I pushed harder anyway.
I needed to outrun something. I just wasn't sure what.
The park trail was busy with weekend traffic. I wove around everyone, not stopping, not slowing. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Once. Twice. Three times. I ignored it.
I don't hate him.
The thought came unbidden, matching the rhythm of my footfalls against the pavement.
I don't hate him, I don't hate him, I don't hate him.
I'd said it out loud in that coffee shop. Admitted it. And David's face had done something—softened, maybe, or broken a little more. Like he'd been waiting three years to hear it and now that he had, he didn't know what to do with it either.
My pace faltered. I nearly tripped over acrack in the sidewalk, caught myself, kept going.
The problem wasn't that I'd told him I didn't hate him. The problem was everything that came after.
I can see you've changed. I believe you're sorry. I even believe you're doing the work to become someone better.
All true. All things I'd meant when I said them.
But that doesn't erase what you did. It doesn't give me back what I lost. And it doesn't mean I'm willing to risk getting hurt by you again.
Also true. Also meant.
So why did my chest feel like someone had reached in and squeezed?
I pushed harder, my breath coming in short gasps now. The park trail opened up ahead, a long straight stretch with no one in sight. I let myself go, legs pumping, arms driving, everything in me focused on the singular act of moving forward.
Don't think. Just run.
But my brain wouldn't cooperate.
You're not the same person you were.
