Tears spring to my eyes, and I squeeze them shut. I won’t cry now. I can’t cry yet. There’s work to do.
I find a vase under the sink, and I put the flowers in water, then I head back to my room. Feeling fortified by the message in the flowers, knowing that there’s someone in the world who values me, I open my laptop, ready to face my customers.
A few hours later and any good feeling has drained out of me. For every email I reply to, another one comes in.
My phone’s been ringing all morning, and after the first customer shouted at me, I turned it off.
I know I should come clean to my customers, tell them I’m shutting down the business, but I can’t bring myself to do so. Not yet.
My eyes are scratchy from staring at the screen, and I run my hand over them, massaging my temples. It’s time to take a break.
As I head to the kitchen, Tony comes in the front door. He’s whistling to himself and stops abruptly when he sees my face.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
Tony thought the world of me when we were together. He always told me I could do anything, and the thought of him knowing what a failure I am makes my heart sink into my toes with shame.
I open my mouth to tell him I’m fine, but if I speak, I’m going to cry. Instead, I just shake my head.
He holds up a brown paper bag with the logo of the local cafe.
“I bought you a chicken wrap and a donut.”
It’s this little act of kindness that’s the final straw. All morning I’ve been dealing with irate customers, and here Tony is, sending me flowers and buying me lunch.
My eyes sting, and this time, I don’t try to stop the tears.
Tony sets down the bag on the kitchen table and, without a word, wraps his strong arms around me. I lean into him, his sturdy chest and familiar smell. It’s like returning home after being lost in the wilderness, and it undoes me completely.
I’m a grown woman. I’m not meant to cry, but in Tony’s arms, I sob like a baby.
All the hurt from the last few weeks comes out, and I ugly cry, snot catching on his tight white t-shirt.
“Come here, honey.”
Tony gently leads me into the living room, and we sink onto the couch. He produces a box of tissues from under the coffee table and gently dabs at my eyes.
“You wanna talk about it?”
I find that I do, and once I start, I can’t stop.
I tell him about how Paul took over the supply end of the business and how I discovered a few weeks ago he’d been siphoning money off the top.
How when I confronted him, he gaslighted me, talked sweet and make me think I was imagining things. How that uncertainty gave him time to empty our business account, as well as our personal account.
How he must have moved the shared warehouse space because when I went there, all my products were gone. How I have orders outstanding and no access to our supplies.
When I get to the part about confronting Paul, Tony gets agitated.
“When I said I was calling the police, that’s when he threatened me. And not only me, Tony. He threatened to hurt Amy.”
At the mention of our daughter, Tony jumps of the couch.
“I’ll kill that fucker.”
I believe he would too, so I place a calming hand on his thigh.
“Don’t, please. I have a lawyer who’s tracking him down. When I find him, I can go through the correct channels, through the courts.”
