Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
“I… Wow, okay.” I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts in order because this is a lot to take in. I mean, my dad has seemed different since his stroke a few months ago. But if I almost died, then became paralyzed on one side of my body and had to go through intensive therapy, I would probably start looking at life a little differently as well. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to talk to a lawyer and find out what I’m entitled to.” Her eyes wander over my face. “As you should be doing for yourself.”
My stomach twists. “I don’t want anything from Conner.”
“You really must stop being so immature, Bridgett. You were married without a prenup and deserve at least half of what he has.”
“I didn’t go to work with Conner every day, so I don’t deserve anything from him except his signature on our divorce papers. And that is honestly all I want.”
I look into eyes the same color and shape as mine. I let her manipulate me for years and went along with whatever she said out of some stupid need to earn her love and gain her approval—which was a waste of effort on my part. I don’t think she knows what love is, and I doubt she is capable of loving anyone but herself.
“You’re making a mistake. You should at least talk to Conner and try to work things out with him.”
“He cheated on me and treated me like garbage. I know I’ve said it before, but hopefully you’ll hear me this time.” I grit my teeth as I try to get control of the temper I feel slipping. “I’m never getting back with him. I have no desire to live my life never feeling real happiness. Never finding someone who loves me just for me. Having money might be nice, but being able to look at myself in the mirror every day without hating the person looking back at me feels really flipping good. And I would rather be alone than lonely, which is what I was when I was married.”
I take a step away from her. “I’m going to get a coffee before I have to go back to work. I’ll talk to you later.” I walk away without looking back and head down the block to the coffee shop. I’m thankful she doesn’t follow.
After placing an order for a large coffee and a turkey sandwich on rye, I sit at one of the tables and grab my cell phone out of my purse. Staring at the dark screen, I try to think of someone I can call or message just to get the confrontation out of my head, but there’s no one. I don’t have any friends anymore, and I can’t even message my brother to tell him that our parents are getting divorced or to bitch about our mom.
It wasn’t a lie when I said I would rather be alone than lonely. But maybe it’s because I have always been lonely and am used to it now.
CHAPTER 6
DRINKS
Bridgett
Standing in my kitchen, I look down at the cookies I just pulled out of the oven. I don’t know where I went wrong, but it’s obvious I made a mistake somewhere because my cookies do not look anything like they’re supposed to. In fact, they look more like overcooked pancakes with chocolate chips than anything else.
Ken, who was my family’s chef growing up and still cooks for my parents, would be highly disappointed if he saw this disaster. When I was little, I would sneak into the kitchen to hang with him whenever I knew my mom wouldn’t be around. Because Lord knows she would have lost her mind if I told her I wanted to learn to cook and actually enjoyed it. But Ken let me help him anytime I asked and showed me all his tips and tricks for making everything from breakfast to fancy desserts. Obviously, I’ve lost my touch over the last few years.
I shake my head with a groan. Maybe trying to bake Noah cookies was a stupid idea. I don’t even know if he eats sweets. With a body like his, I doubt he does. Using the spatula, I scrape one of the cookies off the tray and take a bite, shrugging at my discovery. They might look like garbage, but they actually taste delicious.
I hear a knock on the door and frown. Heading out of the kitchen toward it, I check the peephole to see who it is—all while praying it’s not my mother. After the confrontation we had earlier today, I’d be happy not seeing her for a very, very long time. But with plans to visit my dad tomorrow after work, I doubt I’ll be that lucky. Because even if my father asked her for a divorce, I’m sure she will still be at the house, making her presence known.