I sit on the edge of my bed, clutching the phone in my lap like it holds the answers to the universe.
It’s best if we stop seeing each other. For you. For me. For everything.
Ric is leaving me.
The thought loops endlessly in my mind, squeezing the air out of my lungs with each repetition.
I try to piece together his reasoning, but it feels like grasping at smoke. Why would he say this? Sure, he was upset about how I reacted to the article that dragged his name into the mess of my life. Was it the article itself? Or the backlash he must’ve faced after it circulated? Did something happen at work? Or did I do something wrong?
Then another thought creeps in, insidious and unwelcome.
My father.
It has to be him. He must’ve said something to Ric. Twisted his words to sound like wisdom, li
