36. Being followed.

I pushed a cart through the aisles of the supermarket, focusing on the task at hand: picking up groceries for the week. It had been two days since I had sent my resignation letter to Adrian, and the silence from him was both a relief and a disappointment.

Part of me had expected him to call, to plead or to try to manipulate me into staying. But the days had passed in eerie quiet, confirming that I was truly on my own now.

Despite wanting this freedom, a small part of me felt foolishly disappointed that he hadn't fought any at all to keep me. It was absurd, considering how we never really even had a relationship.

As I reached for a can of soup, memories flooded my mind-the touch of his hands, the intensity in his eyes, and the way he made my body ache for him.

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