I am an ice queen on the inside. I have perfected the art of preventing everything and everyone from seeing the inner me, which is ugly and black and numb. On the outside I smile and chat to customers, make small talk with Bea and Andreas, and do my best take in everything that I am being taught.
But when I am alone, the cracks have started to show. Baking is not even helping now. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat, and I know the dark shadows under my eyes are getting harder and harder to disguise, no matter how much concealer I layer on. I am avoiding Michelle’s calls because I know if I talk to her, I will finally break.
The rest of the week has been a testament to my determination not to end up in a ball sobbing over a man, and on some level I feel a misplaced sense of pride that I have man
