“It’s not similar. I love you, and I made a commitment to you, which he never did. But if you don’t feel the same way, I can’t do anything about that.”

“I do feel the same way. I did…”

“Past tense?”

“It’s been very hard for me to watch the way you react to her, and to realize it wasn’t going to work out between us after all. It was very…hard.”

“I never meant to give you the impression anything was happening with her. I swear to you that’s been over for years.”

“I’m sure you’d like to believe that.”

He released a frustrated sigh that she heard quite clearly through the phone. “Where are you?”

“Where else? Gansett.”

“You should’ve talked to me before you left.”

“Maybe so, but I knew you’d try to talk me out of doing what was best for me.”

“This isn’t what’s best for you or for me.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for us, and I hope your mom continues to improve.”

“This is not over.”

“Bye, Cal.” Abby ended the call and turned her face into her pillow to muffle the sounds of her sobs. Not that anyone could hear her, but she was ashamed to once again be crying her heart out over a man who’d chosen something else—or someone else—over her. How many times in one lifetime was a woman supposed to get her heart broken?

Despite what he’d said, Abby had seen him with Candy enough to know the truth. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it yet, she knew and wasn’t willing to waste any more of her life waiting around for him to figure it out. It was better to get out now before things got really ugly.

Disgusted with herself over the pity party, she wiped her face and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her eyes. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she grimaced at the red eyes and nose that looked back at her.

A knock on her door had her drying her face and running her fingers through her hair. Whoever it was would be able to tell she’d been crying. She opened the door to her mother. Could this day get any better?

“Oh Lord,” Constance said as she brushed by Abby on her way into the room. As always, every hair on her mother’s gray head was perfectly in place, and her outfit coordinated down to the pink espadrilles that matched the pink collar of the shirt that peeked out from under a designer sweater.

And as usual, Abby felt like a schlump next to her mother. She’d spent most of her life trying to measure up to her mother’s idea of perfection and had fallen short more often than not.

“By all means, come in. Please.”