She heard him huff and the stomping of feet as he made his way to the door, but she didn’t hear it open. She knew without turning around that he was standing there staring at her back. She didn’t look his way when she heard him approach again. He appeared in her peripheral vision as he joined her at the window. He stood next to her for a long, silent pause, his arms crossed, near enough that she could touch him. Finally, she turned his way, meeting his stern expression with her own. His anger soon softened, but her own emotions were at war once more.

“Damn, Ryann,” he said, nearly whispering. “You really did a number on yourself, didn’t you?”

She looked away, suddenly sure she would start crying. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Finally, as if he couldn’t help himself, he touched her arm. She tried to keep her expression neutral, almost stern, but a rising panic, horror struck her as he peered into her eyes.

“Was it worth it, Ryann?” He asked. “Was she worth this? You’re like a shadow of yourself.”

She had to pinch her lips together against a sob. Apparently seeing something of this in her eyes, he pulled her closer. She collapsed against him, still managing to hold in her tears but welcoming his embrace nonetheless. He froze, momentarily, most likely with surprise, before he squeezed her against him, rubbing her back. Finally, he moved away, steering both of them to her small couch.

She sat down, still pushing her emotions away and down into herself. She squeezed her eyes closed, counting backward from ten.

You can feel like this for ten seconds, and then you have to stop, she told herself.

“I won’t tell you what to do,” he said when she looked at him again. “And you can be as mad at me as you like, but you can’t keep on like this. You’re functioning, yes. I think you could go on like this forever and still make this company money. You’re good at it—you could do it in your sleep, which is basically what you’re doing now. But you won’t be living, not like this. You’re barely here right now.”