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I follow him out of the bedroom, enraged that he’s stooping so low as to accuse me of such things. After a call with my mother, I shouldn’t be shocked. She’s always been uncannily skilled at making others turn against me. She’s a master of manipulation and an expert in persuasion. If he wants to complain about a woman who’s determined to get her way, he’s spoken to the reigning champion of it.
“You’re a selfish workaholic, Claire.” He stops at the door with one hand on the knob and the other clutching the handle of his bag. His glower is hot and serious. He’s no longer the boyfriend I tried to love. He’s just a pissed-off man who’s closing his mind to anything I might say to defend myself and my actions. “I tried to look past that for too long. I thought I would be the one with the long hours and demanding career expectations. Not you. It’s just taking me this long to accept it’s true. You’re married to your chosen career, and I refuse to be runner-up for your attention. And I’ll be damned if I get married just so you can get the money you want to become even more of a workaholic.”
He twists the knob and steps into the hall. After one last withering glare, he looks me over, then turns on his heel to leave as he slams the door shut.
For a long moment, I’m so numb and shocked I can do nothing but stare at the door. The panel of wood offers no solace. It doesn’t give me any advice or comforting words. Yet, I lock my gaze on it, stunned into a stupor.
I’d been so confused why Owen would stand me up, but now I know.
I’d been so stubborn to resist the idea that he might not want to marry me, but that Band-Aid has been ripped off, leaving me staggering toward a realization that even my last-resort option is imploding before my eyes.
A swift sense of loathing fills me. I cannot beat the crushing feeling of defeat that swallows me as I consider the fact that my mother has won again. She chased Owen off.
Now, what am I supposed to do?
I scrape my hair back from my face as I slowly turn and face the empty apartment.
Owen was right. When I asked him if he wanted to elope, I did so with the hope that it would be the final nail in the coffin of my mother’s control. He guessed correctly. I did have my eye on him because he wasn’t another rich guy from a good family of her approval. I was so enthusiastic to pull this off because I figured it would force her hand. That with my married status, she would no longer have an excuse for not handing over my trust fund. I wasn’t trying to get that money for the sake of having it. I only wished to have some money to start working toward my dreams.
She foiled me. I couldn’t guess how she’d gotten ahold of Owen, to begin with, but I had to deal with the fallout.
“What can I do now?” I whisper aloud in the home that had never felt like one.
I have a job loosely lined up for the fall, an apprentice sort of arrangement that one of my instructors offered to be able to put real-life work experience on my portfolio instead of relying on only my education. I’ve been under the illusion that it would work out just like that. Marry Owen and have my funds released by the time I would be done with that designer position at someone else’s shop. I would’ve been ready to open my place and take off.
Now, I’m stuck. Again. That job in the fall will take me nowhere if I don’t have the resources to start up my own place.
I suck in a sharp breath as panic descends upon me. “I can’t stay here.” I’m not even sure if I have the desire to accept that apprentice position. Because what good would it do now? I didn’t want to start a career as someone’s assistant or backup. My dreams were too damn big to be constrained like that.
My phone rings, further snapping me out of the trance-like reverie of having my plans ruined.
I furrow my brow as I look at the screen. Two hours ago, I was in a hurry to end my call with him, but now, as I feel untethered and lost, I can’t answer quick enough.
“Dalton?”
He sighs heavily. “Hey, Claire. I’m not crazy about how you did it, but I want to be the first to offer you congratulations.”
I sniffle.
“Is it as overwhelming as you envisioned it might be?” He chuckled lightly. “It can’t be easy going from single to hitched that spontaneously.”
“I’m not.”
He snorted. “You’re not overwhelmed? Well, of course not. You take life by the horns and—”
No. I never did. I never will. Unless my mother is stopped, I’ll never have a chance to do anything with my life. “I’m not married. Owen…”
Tears cut me off from explaining that my short-term fiancé not only stood me up but also broke up with me. Big, fat tears leak from my eyes, accompanying gut-wrenching sobs that feel like a horrible ab workout I didn’t sign up for.
“Claire?” Dalton has never been a man of many words, and it’s a blessing now. As I break down completely, capable of only gasping around my cries, I stutter through the only explanation I can manage. He doesn’t badger me for answers or rush to offer stupid words of comfort. He listens to a cacophony of sobs and tears. Sniffles and hiccups, too. I’m a mess, and I express it with raw pain.
I don’t know how he can understand, but I try to give him the details I’m able to process so far. Owen not showing up. My mother calling him. Owen leaving me for good. My mother still lording over my funds.
“I don’t know what to do now, Dalton.” He’s aware of my goals to open a shop, and he’s grown up with me, treated to a front-row seat of the level of manipulation my mother is capable of. “I have this apprenticeship in the fall, but what’s the point?”
“No. Claire, no. Don’t give up.”
I sob harder, hating these hot tears. “Then what?” I shout, not meaning to yell at him but needing to vent this swirl of anger and desperation for a way out. “Then what can I do?” I’ll never quit, but the temptation to throw that option out there feels so logical after my mother thwarted me again.
