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She lay there, trapped inside her bruised, broken body, forcing herself to do what she urged others to do. Acknowledge the truth of her life.
She ran a successful company. She had an apartment full of art and antiques on the Upper East Side and enough money that she never had to worry about it. But she had no one who would rush to her side when she was in trouble.
Cole was here because he was paid to be here, so that didn’t count.
She wasn’t loved. There was no one who cared about her. Not one person who would hear about the accident and think, Oh, no! Poor Gayle! No one would be calling a florist and ordering flowers. No one would be delivering a casserole to her door or asking if there was anything she needed.
She was alone in this life she’d designed for herself.
Completely, totally and utterly alone.
She realised why most people were reluctant to examine the truth of their lives. It was an uncomfortable experience.
What had she done?
She’d chosen her life, designed her life, and now she didn’t like the way it was looking.
In that moment Gayle had an epiphany—and not a good one.
What if she’d chosen the wrong design? What if all the choices she’d made had been wrong? What if all these techniques she’d recommended to people through her books were wrong too?
She needed to stop publication.
She needed to tell her publisher she wanted to rethink the book. How could she promote Brave New You when she was lying on the floor shivering like a wounded animal?
She opened her mouth and tried to croak out some words.
‘She’s moving. She’s conscious! Gayle—Gayle, can you hear me?’
Yes, she could hear him. She was unloved—not deaf.
She opened her eyes and saw a uniformed EMT and behind him Cole, looking worried. There was the cameraman, and also Rochelle, scribbling frantically. Making the most of an opportunity, Gayle thought. Taking the advice she’d been given and redesigning her life.
And that was when she had her second epiphany. Who said you could only design your life once? People remodelled houses all the time, didn’t they? Just because you’d lived with white walls for decades, it didn’t mean you couldn’t suddenly paint them green.
If she didn’t like the way her life looked, then it was up to her to fix it.
And, although she didn’t regret her actions, exactly, she did regret the outcome of those actions.
Maybe she could have done more.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to rebuild what had been knocked down.
But she had to be the one to make the first move.
‘My daughter.’ Her lips formed the words. ‘Call…my daughter.’
She saw Cole’s face pale. ‘She’s conscious, but she has a serious head injury. She’s confused. She has amnesia.’
The EMT frowned. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because GM doesn’t have a daughter.’
Gayle thought about the baby they’d put into her arms. The way it had felt to be entirely responsible for the well-being of a tiny, helpless infant, knowing how hard life could be. She’d wanted to swaddle her in steel and surround her with an electric fence to keep the bad at bay.
‘Gayle, do you know what day it is?’
Yes, she knew what day it was. It was the day she’d started questioning everything she’d believed was right. The day she’d realised that regret could hurt more than a severe head injury.
