Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
TAYLOR
Why do I keep finding her shit?
On the final move-out night, I grabbed Audrey’s brush from my top drawer and carried it to the living room.
Tossing it onto what I hoped would be my final box for shipping, I tried not to let her invade my mind for another hour.
“Alright, Taylor.”
Michael’s voice made me look up. “I’m going to make it easy on you and give you a rain check on celebrating that you got first place.”
“What? You’re leaving already?”
“Obviously.” He picked up his backpack. “I’ll treat you to a round of beers whenever you’re in a better mental space.”
“I’m in a good place now,” I said. “We can go to the bar tonight.”
“You said that last night,” he said, crossing his arms. “And this afternoon. I’m not taking a third chance on wasting my gas and sitting in the parking lot while you stare into space.”
“I didn’t do that.” I scoffed. “I was …”
I stopped talking. I honestly didn’t even remember us going anywhere; my mind had been elsewhere.
“That’s exactly what you did.”
He walked over and set his hands on my shoulders. “If I didn’t already know what the real problem is, I’d have you committed to a mental hospital.”
“I’m just stressed. This program is hard as hell, you know.”
“This program is over,” he corrected. “Hence why I’m even here, Taylor. Thank God Mom’s flight kept getting delayed so she doesn’t have to see you like this.”
“Is she still coming?”
“She’ll be here in an hour,” he said. “So if I were you, I’d pretend like I have my shit together so we can celebrate without you zoning out again.”
“I’m fine, Michael. Truly.”
“You’re not emotionally stressed about Audrey?”
“I don’t know who that is anymore.”
He arched a brow.
“I’m serious,” I said. “She was just a roommate. An old schoolmate. Once I box up the rest of her stuff, there won’t be anything left of her for me.”
“I saw her in the parking lot this morning.”
“Why the fuck are you just now telling me?” I pushed past him toward the door, but he blocked me.
“That was a goddamn test, Taylor.” He glared. “Can you just admit you’re wrecked over her?”
“I’m fucking livid.”
“Close enough.” He stepped back. “Need help packing up her stuff?”
“I can’t believe she left me.” My throat tightened. “She just fucking left me.”
“Did she say why?”
“She didn’t say anything that made sense.”
He gave me a blank stare.
“This is the part where you tell me to forget about her and move on to someone else.”
“I could never do that—not for the girl who’s been your endgame since day one.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not repeating myself.” He sighed. “You know it’s true, and everyone who’s ever been around you two for more than twenty minutes knows it’s true, too.”
I said nothing.
“Tell you what,” he said. “If it’ll keep you from being weird at dinner tonight, tell me about it on the way to pick Mom up from the airport.”
“Are you going to judge me for being emotional about it?”
“Yeah.” He opened the door. “But I’ve been judging you since I got here, so it won’t feel any different.”
TRACK 42. ILLICIT AFFAIRS (5:59)
AUDREY
The door to my parents’ office stared at me in defiance, as if it knew I’d never walk past it. As if it could sense that I’d rather cling to the unknown forever.
Ignoring the ache in my chest, I twisted the doorknob.
Dust swirled through the air as I stepped inside—heavy layers settling over untouched manuscripts, half-empty coffee cups, and carts of unsigned books from their publisher.
Everything was frozen in time, left as if they knew they were coming back.
Tears pricked my eyes. For a split second, I almost turned around, saving this heartbreak for another day.
You’re already here, Audrey. Just keep going.
I forced myself forward. The bench where they used to let me sit between them was pushed against the wall. In its place sat a small white chair, painted with the words For our daughter, Audrey Parker.
Confused, I ran my hand across the back and stepped into their focus room—but it wasn’t how I remembered.
The shared oblong table was gone. A wall now split the space in two, each side holding a separate desk.
I went to my mother’s first and picked up a yellowed stack of papers.
Petition to Divorce.
I swallowed hard, flipping through the pages. The tears came too hot, too fast, for me to read the words.
Tucking the file under my arm, I crossed to my dad’s desk.
Empty.
I opened drawer after drawer, searching for something—anything—that could prove I was imagining this.
Nothing.
Back at my mother’s desk, I found a single DVD labeled For Audrey.
I don’t even have a DVD player…
I tore through the cabinets, hoping they’d kept one.
Nothing.
Then I spotted their laptops.
Rushing to the front room, I plugged in my mother’s, waiting as the screen flickered to life with a tired, off-key Welcome… and a password prompt.