When the doors slid open again, the lobby was bustling with activity. First thing in the morning, agents were either coming in or leaving to conduct interviews, to go to the courthouse, or to do the hundreds of other tasks that fell in the spectrum of our duties. Visitors were getting checked in, and a small group of junior high children were beginning a tour.

We walked together toward the backside of the building, and I pushed open the double doors that led to the courtyard. Nestled between the two buildings was a beautiful sitting area with patio furniture, river rocks, patches of green fescue, and a monument for fallen agents. I’d always wanted to spend a few minutes there to gather my thoughts or just sit in the quiet, but between lunch dates with Val and fitness-room time with Thomas, I hadn’t really found a spare moment.

Jackson sat in one of the cushioned wicker love seats. I stood in front of him, fidgeting. We didn’t speak for nearly a minute, and then I finally took a breath.

“Why didn’t you call first?” I asked.

“You would have told me not to come.” His voice was pitifully sad.

“But you came anyway,” I said, squinting from the bright morning sun.

When Jackson bent over and held his forehead in his hands, I was glad we were alone.

I took a step back, afraid for a second that he might cry.

“I haven’t been handling this well, Liisee. I haven’t been able to sleep or eat. I had a meltdown at work.”

His nickname for me made me cringe. It wasn’t his fault. I’d never told him that I hated it. Seeing him so vulnerable when he was usually in command of his emotions made me uncomfortable, and my guilt compiled it tenfold.

Jackson wasn’t a bad guy. But falling out of love with him had made everything he did grotesque to me, and the harder I’d tried to feel different, the more I couldn’t stand him.

“Jackson, I’m at work. You can’t do this here.”

He looked up at me. “I’m sorry. I just meant to ask you to lunch.”

I sighed and sat next to him. “I hate that you’re hurting. I wish I felt different, but I…just don’t. I gave it a year, like I promised.”

“But maybe if I—”

“It’s nothing you did. It’s not even something you didn’t do. We just don’t work.”

“You work for me.”

I put my hand on his back. “I’m sorry. I really, truly am. But what we had is over.”

“You don’t miss me at all?” he asked.

His body was so much larger than mine that he shaded me from the sun.