The Things I Was Afraid to Lose
I knew I had messed up.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
I had known it the moment Owen walked through the front door that night and looked at me with tired eyes.
I had known it when he told me I had been texting too much.
And I definitely knew it when he went upstairs without waiting for me.
But knowing I had messed up and regretting it were two completely different things.
Because, if I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t sorry that I had wanted to know where Owen was.
I was sorry that I had ruined his night.
There was a difference.
I sat in my office the next morning, staring at the documents in front of me without actually reading a single word.
My mind kept going back to the night before.
Owen standing downstairs in that outfit.
