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Hersubconscious created a million different ways for him to find out about her infertility and a million more ways for him to react, none of them good.She’dwake up covered in sweat.Theinsomnia she already suffered because of her conditions grew worse.Hidingit from him became a constant battle.
Shecouldn’t face telling him the truth.Tosee the disappointment in his eyes, to see him withdraw his love from her…it would kill her.She’dalready experienced his anger over and over in her nightmares.Shecouldn’t handle it in real life.
Soshe inventedNorman, the man who stole her away.Thefictitious knife-wielding psycho who slashed her out ofKrish’slife.Itseemed apt.
Walkingaway from him that day was the hardest thing she’d ever done.Shecouldn’t even regret it, because she knew it was the right thing to do, but the sadness and sense of loss was crippling nonetheless.Shecontinually reminded herself that now he could find somebody else to love, someone who could give him the whole perfect picture that he deserved.
Thatsomeone wasn’t her.
Aftershe’d left, her life went from bad to worse.She’dlost her dream job working for a documentary filmmaker because her symptoms made it hard for her to keep up with the hectic filming schedule.Shenever divulged her problems to her employer, not wanting to use them as an excuse.She’dbeen down that road before: unless she coughed up a wheelchair, her bosses always doubted her pain.
That’swhy she decided to turn to weddings, a job where she could set her own hours, work as little or as much as she wanted, spend most of her time at a desk, and still do something she loved: making films.
Exceptshe didn’t love it.Beingconstantly exposed to other people’s happily-ever-afters only made her think of what she’d given up.
Fiveyears later, she thought she’d finally moved on.She’dthought wrong.
Whenshe relived the way she reacted to him yesterday, the fallow desire awoke in her blood; she knew she still harboured feelings for him.
Howfucking depressing.
Andthat was why she was standing outside her dismal office, taking the first step to cut herself out of his life.Again.
Asshe searched for the key in her bag, she wondered whatKrishwas doing, how he felt about yesterday.Hadhe toldJessdespiteFrancesca’sobjections?Theyboth knew her threat to pull out ofBlenheimwas empty.Sheneeded that wedding almost as much as he did.Butshe hoped that she had at least given him pause to think it through.Therereally was no reason to tell his girlfriend what happened.Hisfuture lay with her, notFrancesca.Shesqueezed her eyes shut to keep the disappointment inside her.
Shewould survive.Shealways did.
Unfortunately, in the very heart of her body, sinceKrishcame back into her life, a tiny light had ignited that wondered if survival was enough.Arebellious thought popped into her head:don’t you deserve more?
Francescasquashed it down.
Inhalingdeeply, she opened the main door and climbed the stairs, the familiar odour of ammonia and urine assaulting her.Asusual, the hallway was deserted.Shenoted that somebody had spray painted more expletives on the wall, a rude but appropriate homecoming gift.
Studyingthe door in front of her, she noted with dismay that it looked worse than she remembered.Thethieves’ jemmies had left deep gouges along the edge.Sheran her hand over the gashes and wondered if she could get away with filling them with putty.Annoyinglyher contract stated that she was responsible for fixing any damage from burglaries, one of those sneaky clauses that she’d missed when signing.Andbecause she had skimped on her insurance—only covering her equipment and public liability (which all wedding venues required)—she couldn’t expect any help from that quarter.
Herphone rang.
‘I’mhere,’ said the locksmith when she answered.
‘Firstfloor,’ she instructed him.
Sheheard him wheezing up the stairs and turned to see a rotund, sweaty grandpa huffing towards her, a black toolbox covered in children’s stickers jangling at his side.Hesmiled at her, and she introduced herself.
Squintingat the door, he whistled. ‘Wow, somebody did a job on that.’
‘Yup.’Shehad eyes.
Puttinghis box on the ground, he wiped his hand down his leg. ‘You’llneed to get it replaced.Nopoint changing the locks on that, sweetheart.’
‘Can’twe just fill it in with putty?’
Heactually guffawed. ‘Fillwhatin?I’msorry to say there’s no actual door where the locks need to go.’
Ina fit of sudden rage, she kicked at the wall, forgetting she had sandals on. ‘Fuck!’Shelimped around in a circle.Bestto refrain from causing bodily harm to herself with theBlenheimjob coming up.
Breathingdeeply, she closed her eyes and asked, ‘Okay, how much will it cost?’
‘Thisis just a ballpark figure, but with parts and labour…’Hescrunched up his face with concentration, considering the damage. ‘…I’dsay about a grand?’
