I was chasing a bit of lamb from one side of my plate to the other. How was I to tell James that this was our last meal—our last anything—together?
My letter of resignation was still in my desk at work. All it needed was my signature. Better I walk out of James’s life than have him throw me out.
“If you didn’t want a curry, I would have got something else,” he said.
“Eh?”
He gave me a look, and I blushed. He’d been talking about dinner.
“Sorry. I’m just not as hungry as I thought.” I took a breath. “I’m…” The breath escaped silently. I couldn’t tell him, not yet. “I think I’ll skip watching telly tonight and go straight to bed.” I touched my napkin to my lips, tossed it down, and rose. My crutches were just within reach.
“Very well. If you’ll just give me a moment—”
“No, that’s all
