Chapter 5 - THE FLIGHT I BOOKED FOR MYSELF
New York welcomed me with rain.
Cold.
Gray.
Relentless.
I loved it.
At least the rain didn't pretend to be something else.
I took a taxi to my apartment.
The apartment Ryan and I had shared before our wedding.
I unlocked the door.
Stepped inside.
And stood still.
Everything looked familiar.
The books.
The furniture.
The photographs.
The wedding gifts stacked beside the dining table.
A framed picture from our rehearsal dinner stood on the mantel.
Ryan was smiling.
I was laughing.
Mallory stood behind us.
Her hand rested on Ryan's shoulder.
I stared at the photograph.
Then turned it facedown.
My phone rang.
My mother.
I answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Katherine?”
Her voice changed immediately.
“What's wrong?”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Then I whispered:
“I came home.”
A pause.
“From France?”
“Yes.”
“Where's Ryan?”
I swallowed.
“In Provence.”
Silence.
Then my mother said quietly:
“I'm coming over.”
Twenty minutes later, she arrived carrying soup.
Because mothers apparently believed every emotional disaster could be improved with soup.
She hugged me.
I cried.
Then told her everything.
The suitcase.
The breakfast.
The cooking class.
The dinner.
The phone call.
The promise.
When I finished, my mother sat quietly.
Then asked:
“Do you want to save your marriage?”
I stared.
“I don't know.”
She nodded.
“Then don't decide tonight.”
I looked down.
“But don't let anyone convince you that what happened was harmless.”
My eyes filled.
May you like
She squeezed my hand.
“Being married doesn't mean you stop deserving consideration.”
