Her side of the bed being empty made me spring up and search for her. “Morning, pretty girl,” I said, as I spotted her dressing into her running gear, and I assumed we’d be going for a stroll in the city—or Central Park. Though, her serious face told me the opposite. “You ok?” “I can’t anymore,” she said. Not a muscle moved in her face, steady green sad eyes, and dry face—she never cried. “Light and uncomplicated, we agreed. My life’s crazy at the moment, and I can’t add you into the mix.” I’ve been in the mix for two freaking years, Emma. I grabbed my boxer briefs from the floor, and scratched the base of my skull. My gut told me something was wrong, when I woke up alone. Ever since her grandfather’s accident she had become distant. I learned it was possible for her to detach even more. I regretted not flying into Connecticut and barging into the hospital to be next to her. It had been a mistake to give her space. The self-reliant crap she announced on a daily basis was the thickest iron wall between the two of us.
