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I help Sarah clean the apartment in companionable silence for the rest of the afternoon, we talked ourselves out and there’s nothing more to say. I have so much to process on my own.

She keeps catching my eye and shaking her head at me in awe. I don’t think she can really accept that this is how I am now, as though she keeps waiting on the old Emma to jump out and throw herself into commandeering, emotionless mode, again. Pull out some tight tailoring and my iPad checklist. Her attention unnerves me, but I don’t want to freeze her back out again, she deserves more. I deserve more.

I keep checking my cell obsessively, but he doesn’t call or text; every time I see the blank screen, I die a little more inside. I long for one of his song emails, a message, anything! I understand his silence, she’ll be with him, he has a lot to think about, talk about; he’s mad at me, he’s overwhelmed. It doesn’t make this any less painful and it