He said there was an emergency at the company. He wouldn't be back until the next day.
He swore up and down on the phone, apologizing, promising he'd make it up to me.
I believed him.
I even felt sorry for him, pulling an all-nighter at the office.
Turns out his "emergency" was spending the night with his college ex.
I looked up at the photo on the wall.
We'd taken it at the beach after we earned our first real profit from the company. In the picture, Barret was cupping my face in his hands, smiling at me like I was the only person in the world.
Tears slipped down from the corners of my eyes and splattered onto the back of my hand before I could stop them.
I ripped the photo off the wall.
The photo, the suit, the note. I shoved all of it into the trash.
The front door beeped with the sound of the keypad unlocking.
Barret walked in, propping up a pale-faced Queenie at his side.
The moment they stepped into the living room, they saw the mess on the floor and my packed suitcase.
"Maggie, what the hell is wrong with you?"
Barret let go of Queenie and strode toward me.