Jill stared at her, her eyes searching for something. Reagan stood her ground and stared right back. She was too angry to offer comfort. Too hurt.

Jill wiped away the lone tear that had fallen and walked out the front door.

Reagan had expected Jill to slam the door on her way out. Instead, it closed with a quiet click, and with it came finality. Her deep anger was replaced by unbelievable sadness. Her stomach dropped, and she clutched it as she tried to control her breathing, willing herself not to get sick. In a daze, she stumbled over to the couch.

She reached for a pillow and held it to her chest. One tear fell and then two. And before she could gain control of herself, her body shook with sobs. She fell onto her side and placed the pillow under her head. As she curled her legs onto the couch, she pulled the blanket off the back and wrapped herself in it.

The thoughts flooding her mind moved a mile a minute. One second it was like she was reliving the moment she realized Jill wasn’t coming to the benefit, and her anger spiked. The next she had to stop herself from finding her phone and calling Jill to come back. Her mind replayed the pain of the night over and over until she fell into a fitful sleep.

Jill walked through her door and tossed her keys on the counter. She let her coat drop to the floor. She had driven home in a daze, which had probably been a terrible idea, but thankfully she made it home in one piece. She thought about grabbing a bottle of whiskey and drinking straight from the bottle, but it held no appeal. At least not yet. She needed comfort first. Then she could try to forget.

She walked upstairs to her bedroom, stripping off her clothes and folding them neatly into a dry-cleaning bag. Focusing on this task was the only way to hold herself together. She let out a sigh as she pulled on her thickest socks, softest sweats, and an old T-shirt. When she went into the bathroom to wash her face, she left the light off. She couldn’t stand to look at herself right now.

“How could I be so stupid?” She’d known sending the check and flowers in her place had been a dumb idea, yet she had still done it. She’d thought she could get Reagan to understand, but that had been an epic failure.

She went downstairs and stopped in the kitchen, pouring herself a generous glass of wine instead of whiskey. She wanted comforting smoothness instead of the burn of the whiskey. Her heart burned enough at the thought of what had just happened.