*** The next morning I woke with an aching feeling in the pit of my stomach. I reached to my side and touched the cold bed, Jack was gone. I laid still, listening for signs that he will still there, but my heart knew the answer before my brain caught up with it. After an hour of allowing my mind to pretend that Jack had only gone out for breakfast for us and was coming back, I dragged myself out of bed. The only thing I had to wear was my evening gown from the night before, so I found Jack’s tuxedo shirt from the night before and put it on. It hung to my knees and I stupidly allowed my senses to take in Jack’s smell as I closed my eyes. I walked through the penthouse, it was all unfamiliar from the night before, 213/408 except the kitchen. I knew there was no note, but I allowed myself to look for one so that I wouldn’t spend the next month beating myself up that there could have been one that I missed. It was almost 11 o’clock on Sunday morning and even I couldn’t convince myself that Jack had ran out for pressing business.
