Chapter 4

The hospital discharged Chase three days after his fall. Three days of me sitting in that sterile waiting room, ignoring his calls, deleting his texts. Three days of pretending I didn't care that he was just floors above me, recovering from injuries sustained while pleading for my forgiveness.

I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong.

The first bouquet arrived at my office on Monday morning—two dozen white roses with a card that simply read: "Eight years can't be erased. Please talk to me. -C"

I tossed them in the trash.

The second arrived Tuesday—lilies this…